


picked undone, and again

by biggerthanthesun



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Bottom Nick, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Comeplay, Coming Out, FWB, Facials, First Time, Fluff, Light D/s, M/M, More angst, neon enjoy sign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggerthanthesun/pseuds/biggerthanthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I need you to know that I... I want you all the time. Me wanting you and us doing this,” Nick says. “We’ve been weirdly steady for two people who aren’t even dating and I still want you more than ever, you know? I’m not even tired of it, I’m not even tired of </i>you<i>. You’re like a constant thing for me, I’m afraid I’m a bit mad about you.”</i><br/> <br/>The one where they’re not boyfriends. Where Nick’s mad for Harry. And Harry was mad for Nick. Until he wasn’t anymore. (Canon-compliant).</p>
            </blockquote>





	picked undone, and again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marriedtheghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriedtheghost/gifts).



> This fic spans a timeline from when Harry and Nick met in 2011 til fall 2014. It is canon divergent, in which real life events that occurred are featured, with a few minor creative liberties taken. Disclaimer that this is an RPS work of fiction and isn’t meant to represent the actual lives of those portrayed. 
> 
> Cheers to M and MZ for looking over this in its various stages of completion. Any comments and kudos would be much appreciated. Tumblr post can be found [here](http://gurldirection.tumblr.com/post/105880379160/).
> 
> For marriedtheghost: Chose the angstiest of your prompts and aimed for a short canon ficlet but this thing took a life of its own, more of a Nick character study than anything. Really hope it’s what you were looking for. xx 
> 
> _2014-12-20 Edit:_ Added an note regarding the ending, you can skip to the End Notes if you don't want to be spoiled.

The first time Nick sees Harry, Harry doesn’t see him.

He’s wearing a bow-tie, blazer, and dark jeans, his curls perfectly blow dried and couifed. He’s lovely, and Nick remembers seeing him on X-Factor so he finds himself wondering how Harry is in reality in comparison to the way the show had framed him. They’re on the red carpet for the GQ awards, and Nick’s head is pounding a bit from the incessant camera flashes, but there’s a part of him already planning how he’s going to chat up Harry at the open bar once they get inside. Then, Nick remembers Harry’s seventeen and squashes the thought completely. Can’t hurt to talk though, can it?

Turns out the universe is on his side or something, because he gets seated at a table next to James Corden and all of One Direction during the awards. Nick watches as Harry, who’s sitting almost directly across the round table from him, keeps sneaking sips of champagne every time the camera isn’t on their table. Harry’s sat so close to Louis Tomlinson that their thighs are brushing. Louis is sat two seats away from Nick and Nick can just see that his hand is on Harry’s knee all night. It’s cute. At first Nick thought it was a flirty thing between them, but then quickly realizes it might be more. Under the guise of sweet, confident popstar, Nick notices how nervous Harry actually is, vibrating with so much energy that he looks about ready to float away. Louis seems to be anchoring him, the hand on his knee holding him down, leaning in and whispering close to Harry’s ear every now and then, trying to make Harry laugh. It’s somehow cute and has the ability to make Nick incredibly, inappropriately jealous.

Despite all the chaos going on around them (and god knows Nick knows more than half the people kissing cheeks and arses in this room), he keeps on accidentally tracking Harry, and the way Harry’s eyes dart around constantly to take in the venue. They scan the cameras lined up across the stage and the sheer number of gorgeous, intimidating people at the show.

Nick can sympathize with how overwhelmed Harry must feel, a teenager plucked from obscurity and dropped into the extravagant chaos of an awards show. Nick wonders if One Direction are the youngest people here, and figures they must be at least five years younger than the rest of the glittering crowd. Nick tries to remember from watching X-Factor if they’re all the same age, vaguely recalls that Harry is the youngest by a year or so. GQ doesn’t invite just anyone to their events, and Nick’s sure Simon pulled some strings to get the boys a table near the front, where the cameras are constantly panning over their faces.

On the telly, Harry was was lumped together with four other good looking lads in one band and even though Nick remembers thinking he was his favorite from the group, it had more to do with the way Harry had fit Nick’s exact type rather than Harry standing out as different amongst the other boys. In person, however, right here sat across from Nick, it feels like Harry lights up the table, maybe even the whole room. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and leaning with his elbows on the edge of the table, trying to catch every bit of conversation going round between his bandmates. Nick smiles at him from across the table, and Harry’s eyes flick over to him. He grins back, easy as ever. _Well, fuck,_ Nick thinks.

“You know, it’s not as scary if you don’t look directly into the cameras. I personally try to forget they’re there,” Nick stage whispers from across the table.

Harry’s eyebrows go up in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“What’s that?” Harry asks, projecting his voice over the din of the table.

He pulls his chair closer to the table, leaning halfway across it. Louis’s hand falls away from Harry’s thigh and he looks up curiously at Nick as well. Harry’s running his tongue over his bottom lip, all of his attention focused solely on Nick now. It takes Nick a moment to remember that he needs to repeat himself, but he does. Harry just laughs this time.

“Oh, it’s not the cameras that bother me. I’m used to that from the X-Factor,” Harry says, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. His voice is syrupy-slow, Northern accent peeking through. “Cameras are kind of unavoidable where we come from,” he says with a hoarse laugh. “I just keep thinking about how Justin Timberlake and Jay-Z are seated at a table four seats down from us and feeling like my suit is quite shit, honestly.”  

Nick didn’t expect him to be so quick to engage, but he grins at that.

“Oh yeah?” Nick says. “Burberry a sub-par hookup for an awards show, then?”

“Burberry’s great, it’s just that I ended up with it too late for even a last-minute alteration and Caroline, she’s the one who puts our looks together for these things, she’s hemmed my trousers just by sticking some of those sewing needles in so they don’t look too long on me. I keep thinking one of them is going to poke me in the ankle any minute and with my luck, I’ll probably trip on the way to the loo and end up stabbing my foot.”

So Harry’s a rambler. Nick could get used to that.

“No worries, love, we’ve all been there,” Nick says with a laugh.

“Oh no,” Louis interjects, and Nick raises an eyebrow at him cutting into their conversation. “Our Harold here has been there one too many times. It’s like his laces are always tied together or something, innit?”

Louis elbows Harry and Harry laughs, shaking his head.

“How’d you know it was Burberry anyway?” Harry asks, ignoring Louis and addressing Nick instead. Louis looks mildly annoyed by this development, but Nick can’t bring himself to care while Harry is staring at him so intently.

They’re still talking across the table and now Nick wishes he was sat right next to Harry just to peeve Louis further. He’s already looking mutinous over Harry ignoring him in favor of Nick. Whatever is going on there, Nick tries not to feel to smug about it.

“Cause I tried on the same exact thing two weeks ago,” he tells Harry conspiratorily. “I quite liked the ash-grey look but I decided to go with my lovely Valentino number over here in the end.”

“You are looking very smart tonight,” Harry says, and if Nick isn’t mistaken, there’s a hint of shyness to his tone. “It matches your eyes.”

Nick laughs delightedly. It’s been a while since he heard that line, but he quite likes it coming from Harry.

“Well aren’t you a sweet one,” he says. “I’m Nick Grimshaw by the way, don’t think I managed to introduce myself.”

“Harry Styles,” Harry responds, a grin stretched across his face. “I do know who you are, you know. I really like your night-time show with Annie Mac.”

From the corner of his eye, Nick catches Louis rolling his eyes. Nick lets himself bask in it, just for a moment.

“Do you now? That’s quite a surprise, we’re on so late. Have you ever called in, then?” he asks.

“Always wanted to but I never had the chance. I used to have it on when I worked at a bakery back home in Holmes Chapel. Would listen while I was closing up shop,” Harry drawls.

“Well feel free to call whenever, love having a chat with a mate on air,” Nick says with a wink, and Harry full-on beams, his nerves apparently dissolved in the fizz of champagne and hum of conversation.

For the rest of the night, Nick keeps idle conversation with the rest of the One Direction lads, and jokes around with Cordie about having a full-on snog sesh before the end of the night. They’ve discovered that every time the camera pans to the table it just cuts them both from view, which is just not on. He spots Harry’s eyes widening at their banter, seems particularly caught up in the rude bits. When Nick catches his eye, he looks away, cheeks flushing, and Nick has to resist his natural inclination to tease.

“You know I’m always up for a cheeky snog with a beautiful man, James,” Nick says between sips of bubbly, and laughs when James smacks a big wet one on his cheek.

At the end of the night, Nick leaves with Harry programmed onto his BBM list. Right before One Direction are herded off, Harry corners him and asks if they could swap numbers. Nick takes a strange sort of delight in noting Louis’ narrowed eyes tracking the entire exchange. What a weird little band, they are.

Harry gives Nick a cheeky air-kiss goodbye and, because he’s only human, Nick waves and grins just before Harry’s mop of curly hair disappears from view.

It’s a good night, all things considered.

-

 

About a month later, Nick gets a text from Harry asking if he’d like to do a bit of shopping and grab their tea on Oxford Street. They’ve been texting on and off since the GQ event, always friendly. Sometimes, when they text all night during Nick’s show, it begins to border on flirty, sending Nick’s stomach into a swarm of butterflies. Nick doesn’t know what to make of the string of _xx_ ’s Harry signs off with in every message, but he finds himself doing the same to Harry and hoping he picks up on the hints Nick keeps dropping.

They’re in the dressing room in Topman, Harry checking his arse in the mirror after squeezing into a pair of skinny jeans that Nick’s picked out, when Nick hears the girl tending the dressing room shyly asking him for an autograph. Harry grins wide and easy as he chats with her for ages, turning on his full-blown popstar charm.

Nick is only half-listening as leans against the wall, trying to find a nice place for lunch on his phone, when he hears the girl say something about _he must be so proud_ and notices that Harry’s fallen silent for a moment and then is bursting into laughter at what the girl just whispered to him.

“Something funny, popstar?” Nick asks as he looks up, quirking an eyebrow.

The girl looks confused and Harry is still laughing, hands covering his mouth. “You are his dad, aren’t you?” she asks tentatively.

Nick’s positive his jaw drops. “I’m hardly twenty-seven!”

“He’s definitely _not_ my dad,” Harry says with a laugh. “Sorry Nick, I think it was a genuine mistake.”

“I’m really sorry, sir. That was out of line. I’m _so_ sorry. I’m just going to go stand there now and pretend that didn’t happen. Let me know if you need help getting anything else. _Sorry,_ again,” she says. Nick guffaws. At least she has the decency to look mortified as she darts away.

“Your bloody father! Can you even believe that? Christ, Harold, we’re heading to Selfridges after this, it seems that I _do_ need some of that Chanel anti-aging cream Mossy won’t shut up about.”

Harry rolls his eyes, trying and failing to hide the smile still plastered on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, Selfridges it is. Now tell me, how does my bum look in these jeans?”

Nick groans, long and dramatic. “It looks fine, Harold! Everything looks fantastic on you because you’re a bloody teen.” He dashes out of the dressing room in an exaggerated huff. He’s not sure he could’ve dealt with having to analyze every curve of Harry’s bum in various shades of denim for any longer, anyway.

-

Nick does in fact drag Harry to Selfridges to pick up that cream, if only to be totally annoying and prove some kind of point. If anything, it means they spend another hour shopping with Nick reassuring Harry that everything he tries on fits him like a glove and can they please go for their tea now?

They decide to settle on the Yo! Sushi on the ground floor, sitting at a booth with delicate sushi rolls going round on the conveyer belt to their right. Harry looks mesmerized, insisting on grabbing every bowl, lifting the lid, deciding he doesn’t like crab (who doesn’t like crab?) closing the lid and putting it back on the belt. Nick tells him there’s probably hygiene laws against doing that but Harry ignores him and keeps up a running commentary of every dish he picks up and scrutinizes.

After the fourth or fifth time, Nick smacks a hand on the table and demands some attention. It turns out having Harry’s full attention on you, lips stained red from a glass of Merlot he insisted on ordering, “ _This restaurant honestly makes me feel like we’re on a date, Nicholas. I’m ordering us glasses of red because it’s romantic_ ,” is mildly nerve-wracking at best. Who said anything about a bloody date?

Now that Nick knows this might be more than a friendly outing where he’s mistaken for an old person, it’s like a switch has gone off on his head, and he can’t stop rambling and trying to overcompensate for how much of a giant nerd he actually is. Harry doesn’t seem to notice though, and keeps knocking his ankle against Nick’s under the table, the touches on Nick’s hands lingering longer as the tipsy flush on his cheeks gets brighter and brighter.

Nick’s probably screwed.

-

Nick drives Harry home and Harry shyly invites him up to his new flat in Canary Wharf that he shares with Louis.

“I’ve never had my own place before, I can give you the grand tour if you’d like? Louis is off at Eleanor’s for the night,” he says, leaning over across the car console and wrapping his fingers lightly around Nick’s wrist on the steering wheel.

 _Bloody hell_. Nick stupidly agrees and lets Harry direct him to the building’s parking garage. As the doors close in the lift up to to Harry’s flat, Harry backs Nick up against the wall, kissing him for the first time right there in the tight space that could barely accommodate four or five people. What is Nick's life, honestly? _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thinks, and gives back just as good as he gets. He settles his hands on Harry’s hips and pulls him flush against his body, Harry letting out a soft gasp against his mouth. They stand there clutching at each other, one of Harry’s hands moving up and sliding into Nick’s hair, the other soft on his jaw, pulling him ever closer.

Harry’s fingertips are hot as they brush against Nick’s throat, scratch at the day-old scruff and drift down so that his hand is pressed between them on Nick’s chest, pressing Nick harder into the wall but still warm over the thrumming of Nick’s heart. Harry lets out quiet _mmmm_ as he licks into Nick’s mouth, kissing him over and over, pulling back to brush their noses together and then tilt Nick’s head so he can kiss him deeper, wetter, dirtier.

Nick’s dick twitches and he nudges his knee between Harry’s legs so he can grind his thigh up against where Harry’s half-hard and fattening up in his trousers. Harry moans and it’s loud in the elevator, which dings to remind them that they’re still on the basement level of Harry’s building. They both ignore the sound in favor of grinding up on each other more heatedly.

“You gonna get that?” Nick murmurs, his lips tingling as they brush over Harry’s. “Or does your seduction technique include a cheeky handjob in the lift of your building too?”

“Mmm, sorry.” Harry laughs. “S’just been a while since I’ve done this. It’s nice to just have someone to snog for ages, innit?” His consonants are slurring together, Northern accent ever the more apparent as his eyelashes slowly flutter open like he’s drunk off the taste of Nick.

He pulls away to finally punch a button on the lift so it can move and then turns back to Nick, suddenly looking shy.

“I’ve got a bit of a secret though,” Harry says.

“What’s that?” Nick says, before tugging Harry back so he can sneak in another kiss.

Harry pauses before Nick’s mouth can touch his, lets his nose brush against Nick’s.

“I’ve never quite like…” Harry looks up at Nick through his lashes, the picture of innocence that Nick knows he isn’t. “You know, with a lad.”

Nick pulls back a bit, trying not to look too surprised but his eyebrows have gone up of their own accord. When Harry had suggested he come up to see the flat he kind of read into it as Harry inviting him up for _more_.

“Well…” Nick says, slowly. He tries to pick out what he says next as delicately as possible. “That’s perfectly alright. If you don’t… want to?”

Harry’s face is so close to his and Nick’s almost fully hard in his jeans, but Harry’s admission completely changes how Nick expected the night to go. Harry licks his lips, and Nick has to stop himself from groaning.

“I mean,” Harry starts, and then the elevator dings open on Harry’s floor.

“Well, well…” a familiar voice calls out. Harry and Nick quickly pull apart. Nick looks up and fucking hell. Louis Tomlinson. “Isn’t this cosy, eh?”

Harry blushes bright red and runs his hands through his curly hair. Nick tries to discreetly cover the bulge in his pants, but Louis squints as he scrutinizes their every move, glancing down at Nick and looking him over with a disinterested, perfectly arched eyebrow raised.

“Hey Lou,” Harry says in a rough voice, and then pauses to clear his throat and wipe at his slick mouth with the back of his hand. “Weren’t you supposed to be at El’s tonight?”

“I was, but my game of Fifa was so exciting that I’ve only just managed to get my arse up to leave,” Louis says.

Nick and Harry shuffle out of the lift awkwardly. Nick isn’t embarrassed, just slightly annoyed that of all people, it was Louis who caught them in a compromising looking situation.

“Harry, do you mind helping me bring my bag down? I’d like to have a quick word with you,” Louis says.

Nick frowns. Harry looks confused and caught in the middle of a verbal monkey-in-the-middle.

“Umm. Alright. S’ok if you give us a mo’, Nick? Here’s my key, it’s the last flat down the hall to the right,” Harry says, handing Nick the key and turning around to head back into the lift with Louis.

Nick makes his way through the front door and, once he’s inside, can’t help but notice that the flat is a bloody tip. Honestly, the living room has shit everywhere, and Nick wrinkles his nose and peeks around into the kitchen and the two bedrooms. It’s a nice flat with a skyline view but it feels impersonal, like an assistant just went to Ikea and bought the necessities. It’s not like Nick’s flat, which has framed art everywhere and kitschy pieces in his living room like his trunk coffee-table. He has a designer armchair he covets, that he fell in love with and picked up on a whim from Armani Casa. He’d bought that with his first BBC Radio paycheck and he hasn’t regretted it since. This flat doesn’t feel like a _home_.

The kitchen has bar stools overlooking the island, expensive-looking marbletop countertops and brand new silver appliances. It looks depressingly unused and when Nick ambles over to the fridge to peer in, all he finds is boxes of Chinese takeout and a million sodas. _Well_ , Nick thinks, his own fridge doesn’t look much different so he has no room to judge. The building must be brand-spanking new and a fortune to rent in. Simon Cowell has treated these lads nicely.

He manages to find Harry’s bedroom, with framed family pictures on the dresser and his bed made haphazardly. There are still clothes everywhere but at least it appears to be organized chaos. Nick flicks on the bedside lamp and sits down on the bed, waiting for Harry. The room is shrouded in a dim yellow light, the bright city lights illuminating the room from the floor to ceiling windows all along the far left side.

Nick pulls out his phone and immediately opens up his group text with Aimee and Pixie.

_"It’s possible that Louis Tomlinson is trying to cockblock me and Harry Styles right now."_

“ _OMG,_ ” Pixie writes back. “ _How is it that you managed to seduce that cute piece of arse before me Nick?? JELLY._ ”

Nick bursts out laughing.

“ _He kissed me first!_ ” he replies.

“ _Louis always did seem annoying on the telly tbh,_ ” Aimee contributes.

Just then Nick hears the door open from the front hall and he shuts his phone, putting it on the bedside table. Harry comes right in, sees Nick and starts to toe off his shoes and remove his jacket.

“Hi. I see you found my room. Um, I’m really sorry about Louis,” Harry says. The hot red blush is gone from his cheeks but he’s looking embarrassed and a little concerned. “And sorry bout the mess too, I’m usually neater than this when my mum’s forcing me to clean my room all the time.”

He comes to sit by Nick, and on autopilot, Nick’s hand finds his thigh. Harry’s cheeks twinge pink all over again. God, he really is so cute. Before they do anything, though. They need to talk.

“So about…” Nick says. And Harry nods.

“I just, wanted you to know,” Harry says, wide eyed and honest.

“Of course,” Nick says.

“And I _do_ , I do want…” Harry says, a shy smile on his lips now. Nick nods for him to continue. “So maybe just, slow? And like, show me? What you like?” Harry asks, still sounding uncertain.

Nick bites his lip. “I mean, I also want,” he clarifies. “And I’ll happily show you, but please,” he takes Harry’s hand in his own. “Please let me know if you feel like it’s too much, because I don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask me to stop.”

“I will,” Harry says quickly. “Tell you if it’s too much, that is. But I probably won’t, because I think you’re really fit,” he blushes again, looks down at his knees.

Nick laughs. “Thanks for that. But really, Harry. Between the two of us right now, you get to call the shots here, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, nodding resolutely.

“Alright,” Nick says, and they grin stupidly at each other.

Harry tentatively puts his hand on Nick’s jaw just then, rubbing his thumb over Nick’s scruff and he presses closer, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on Nick’s mouth. When Nick kisses back, he does it soft and slow, letting Harry set their pace.

In some way, Nick feels like this is their first kiss as opposed to their hot snog session in the lift. Harry came off as completely self-assured then but Nick realizes he must have been bluffing, and the thought of anyone trying to impress him slightly bewilders Nick.

Harry _is_ a good kisser though, his tongue nudging into Nick’s mouth, both his hands on Nick’s face now, pulling him closer and scooting back on the bed. Nick follows him and they fall onto the sheets, lying parallel to each other. They keep kissing, Harry’s mouth slow and wet against his own. Harry settles his hand on Nick’s hip and Nick covers it with his own. When Harry’s hand slides under the thin white cotton of his shirt so his palm is resting against the hot curve of Nick’s belly, Nick lets out a hum of approval against Harry’s lips.

That seems to make Harry a little more confident, and he moves even closer to Nick, lets his hand wander higher up, rucking up Nick’s shirt and resting on his ribs. His fingers clutch at Nick and Nick moans pleasantly. Nick can feel Harry smile against his mouth.

“You’re so bloody fit,” Harry says again, starting to lean on top of Nick, his mouth brushing over Nick’s over and over in open-mouthed kisses.

Harry pulls back and licks his lips. He seems to come to a decision and sits up a bit. He throws one of his legs over Nick’s thighs and settles over him so he’s sitting on top. Harry looks down at him and Nick licks his lips, eyelashes fluttering. He places his hands on Harry’s hips, and Harry grins. Then he grabs the bottom of his own shirt and quickly tugs it off, leaving him barechested, his curly hair hanging droopy and messy. Harry’s necklaces clink together on his chest.

Nick just allows himself to look at Harry for a bit, let his hands roam over Harry’s belly, his soft hips, his ribs. Nick thumbs over Harry’s nipples and Harry gasps, throwing his head back and grabbing at Nick’s hands in surprise. His hips grind down over Nick’s and the friction is so good. Nick lets out an involuntary groan, sitting up to latch his mouth onto Harry’s nipple, wanting to make this good for Harry.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Harry says, his hands going straight into Nick’s hair and clutching his head there.

Nick moves over one of Harry’s nipples slowly, licking and sucking at it, gentle bites followed by kisses. He swaps over to the other nipple and pays it the same attention, his hand drifting up to lightly twist the one he just kissed wet and Harry grinds his dick down over Nick hard. Harry’s head is tipped back and Nick trails open mouthed kisses up to his neck, pausing to suck a lovebite there. Harry is panting now, his hips thrusting over Nick with desperation. His hands trail down Nick’s back, resting over his arse and starting to tug Nick’s shirt up. Together, they pull it off, and then Harry pushes him back onto the bed and gets on top so their chests are pressed flush together.

“How about,” Nick suggests, his mouth bumping against Harry’s, “you get up here and fuck my mouth?”

Harry groans, his hand going tight and pulling at Nick’s hair a bit, where he’s clutching behind his neck. He nods wordlessly, and Nick kisses him once before pulling back.

“Wait,” Nick says. He gently tips Harry off of him and then rearranges the two of them, so that Nick’s head’s resting on a pillow with the headboard of the bed behind him. Harry shucks off his trousers and his boxers with them, revealing his hard cock and thick thighs.  

Nick’s dick jerks in his pants and he wants to groan. He briefly entertains the idea of how good it would feel to get his dick between Harry’s thighs and fuck them with some slick. It’s one of his favorite things.

Instead, he settles down, casually says, “‘Kay, put your hands on the headboard and come sit on my face,” and watches as Harry’s jaw drops a bit. Harry settles back over Nick in no time, palming the weight of his dick hanging heavy, and Nick tries to detect if there’s any nervousness or hesitation in his movements.

“S’alright,” Nick says softly, clutching at Harry’s hips, pulling him closer so that his dick bumps up against Nick’s chin.

Harry’s dick is _big_. Nick’s been with loads of guys but Harry’s cock is fat and well-hung. Harry’s fists at the thick girth of it, and Nick uses his tongue to lick at the head of Harry’s dick, sticky with precome. Lets his jaw fall open so Harry can thrust into his mouth. Harry is panting, one hand braced on the headboard and the other tentatively brushing at Nick’s hair and face, drifting his fingertips down to Nick’s jaw, his thumb feeling at the corner of Nick’s mouth wide open around his dick. Nick struggles to wrap his lips around Harry’s cock and take him deep at this angle. He hollows his lips around him, settles one hand on Harry’s hip to push him back, and uses the other to wrap around his dick, so his fist covers what his mouth can’t reach.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Harry’s mumbling, his dick pumping into Nick’s mouth and fist, getting Nick messy with it.

Nick moves his fist off Harry’s dick, lets his hand crawl up Harry’s chest and tug him down by his silver necklaces. Harry’s flushed so red, blooming from his cheeks and spreading down through his chest, and there are beads of sweat gathered at the curls by his temples. Harry braces both hands against the headboard, mouth dropping open with a loud groan. Nick tentatively presses his fingers into Harry’s mouth and Harry bites at his knuckles, the pads of Nick’s fingers getting wet on Harry’s tongue.

Harry sucks at Nick’s fingers with a wet _mmmm_. Nick can feel the vibrations on Harry’s tongue rather than hear it. Nick drags his hand down so he can squeeze at Harry’s hips with both hands. Just then, Harry fucks down hard and fast into Nick’s throat, forcing Nick to deepthroat him, his dick stretching Nick’s mouth full. Nick lets Harry thrust deep once, twice, and then pushes him back before he loses his voice. He lets his wet fingers crawl round Harry’s bum, nudge down his crack and drift over his hole.

“ _Fucking hell,_ ” Harry shouts in surprise, as Nick grips hard at his hip, pushing him back slightly with one hand so just the head of his dick rests on Nick’s mouth, his tongue licking at the head and Harry is shaking, his dick jerking against Nick’s bottom lip.

Nick rubs at Harry’s rim with two wet fingers, just a teasing light pressure over his hole and Harry grabs his own dick in his fist, pulling back.

“I’m gonna,” he mumbles with a gasp.

“ _Yeah,_ fuck. You can... on my face. Come on my face,” Nick says, his voice deep and gritty.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Harry moans, just before his dick starts spurting come. His eyes fly open, fist moving fast over his dick, pumping ropes of come over Nick’s open mouth, getting over his cheeks and dripping down Nick’s chin and chest. Harry watches with half-lidded eyes as Nick licks over his come-wet lips dirtily, wiping over his chin with the back of his hand and sucking his own thumb into his mouth, hollowing his mouth around it until he pulls it out with a wet _pop_.

It’s the filthiest thing Nick’s done in months. Nick’s eyelashes flutter shut and his dick twitches in interest. Harry reaches down and thumbs over Nick’s jaw and mouth briefly, before settling back and moving his shaking thighs off of Nick’s chest to lie back down next to Nick. Harry cuddles close so his head is on the same pillow and one of his legs are draped over Nick’s. Nick’s eyes have drifted shut out of their own accord and he feels Harry lean over him to grab something. Nick feels soft cotton over his chest and nipples and realizes Harry’s gently wiping his come off of Nick with what must be one of their shirts.

“Mm, thanks,” Nick mumbles sleepily. Harry wipes at his chin and neck before pressing a dry kiss on Nick’s mouth.

He feels Harry’s fingertips on his jaw and neck, turning Nick’s head so that their noses brush together. Nick blinks his eyes open to see Harry’s green eyes looking back at his own. Harry noses at him and kisses him again, gentle and warm. It’s so much more intimate than Nick’s used to. His heartbeat has slowed down, and he feels like he’s dreaming, Harry’s tongue licking into his mouth. Nick hums and Harry lets their noses bump together again.

“Nobody’s ever let me come on their face before,” Harry says quietly, and Nick can’t help but laugh tiredly.

“I’m not nobody,” Nick mumbles back.

“You’re definitely something. That was… wow,” Harry says in soft wonder. “And that thing with my bum was like, mental.”

Nick furrows his brows. “Mental as in, not nice?” he asks carefully.

“No, no,” Harry says, his big palm warm on Nick’s belly, fingers tracing at the soft skin there. “It was nice just, a bit... unexpected? Like, I didn’t know that was a thing I’d even think was nice.”

Nick covers Harry’s hand with his own.

“Well, if you’d ever like to try it on me I can assure you that I find it very nice and a pretty quick way to rile me up,” Nick says, casual, and he’s glad Harry’s said something so Nick can figure out what Harry’s comfortable with. “ _Especially_ if a lad’s fingers are this nice,” he continues, pulling up Harry’s hand so he can bite at his knuckles playfully.

Harry laughs, and he drags their hands down, so they edge teasingly at the waistband of Nick’s pants peeking out of his jeans.

“I think I’d like to try that, at some point,” Harry says, leaning over and pressing a warm kiss over Nick’s mouth. “I wanna…”  

Harry lets his hand drift lower, pinky and ring finger tucking past the waistband of Nick’s pants.

“You don’t have to,” Nick says quickly, even though his cock is still half-hard and definitely interested.

“Please, let me,” Harry says. One of his legs comes up to drape around Nick’s body, and Harry props himself up over Nick for the second time that night, his eyes dark.

Nick bites his lip. Honestly, who’s he bloody kidding when Harry’s spread out on top of him all warm and willing. He nods and pulls Harry down towards him by his necklaces to show his interest. They make out for a bit just like that, easy and sweet, Harry’s hand tucked between his jeans, palming over the bulge in Nick’s pants. Harry starts to undo Nick’s jeans, tugging them down his body, and Nick kicks the pair off. His cock is straining against his black cotton of his pants, and Harry’s hand strokes at the trail of hair leading down, fingers slipping past the elastic waistband and finally, _finally_ curling around the thick length of Nick’s cock, coaxing him into hardness.

Harry’s fingers are dry and tentative on Nick’s cock, as he slides his loose fist down over Nick. Nick gasps, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Harry’s wrist and tugging his big hand out of his pants. Harry leans over Nick, his necklaces hitting his chin and he’s looking down at Nick, eyes dark. Nick drags Harry’s hand up so he can lick at his palm and get it wet, sucking Harry’s fingers into his mouth. Harry just watches him with interest, Nick’s tongue thick, wet, and flat over his palm.

When Harry’s hand is nice and slick Nick drags his wrist down back into his pants, wrapping both of their fists around his length and Harry gives Nick’s dick a slow, wet jerk. It’s fucking _perfect_. Nick slides his pants down his bum with his other hand and they get trapped around his thighs, Nick’s dick caught between both of their bellies.

Nick keeps his hand over Harry’s, desperately trying not to fuck up into his fist. Harry is still jerking him slow and careful, and Nick lets his hand linger before easing them into a slightly quicker pace. They find a rhythm where Harry’s hand is sliding down his length and squeezing around the head of Nick’s cock, where his palm gets even wetter every time it brushes up against Nick’s slit, wet with precome.

“Can you,” Nick says. Harry leans down to kiss his mouth wet, their noses bumping together as Nick’s hips jerk up fast and uncoordinated into Harry’s grip. When Harry’s got a handle on how Nick likes it, Nick slides both his hands into Harry’s hair and pulls him down, kissing him sloppy because he’s getting closer to the edge.

Nick pants against Harry’s mouth. “Just, focus on the head, put your thumb on my slit. I’m _so fucking..._ ” Nick gasps, his voice breaking.

“Yeah, _fuck_. Nick, this is so fucking hot. Love the feeling of you in my hand, love your,” Harry mumbles between kisses, “your mouth.” He flicks his thumb over the head of Nick’s dick like he asked and Nick falls apart in his hand.

Nick gasps loudly into Harry’s mouth, his hips surging up on their own accord, dick jerking wet in Harry’s fist. Harry keeps pumping his dick, come spurting out over his hand and making a slick mess between their bodies. Nick closes his eyes and lets his orgasm flood over him, feeling it burst white hot in his cock, tingling in his fingertips and toes. His dick going is half hard and sensitive, and Nick grips at Harry’s wrist to stop his jerking fist, the pads of his fingers starting to feel rough on his cock. Harry lets go and rests his wet hand low on Nick’s belly, rubbing the sticky come into Nick’s skin absentmindedly.

Nick looks up at Harry sleepily and Harry smiles back, leaning down to peck at Nick’s mouth before shifting and tipping over to the side off of Nick, one of his legs still wrapped around Nick’s. Nick’s heartbeat is slowing down, and he wiggles out of his come-wet pants. Using them to wipe over his stomach, he wrinkles his nose, tossing them over the side of the bed. Harry snuggles a bit closer, laying his head over Nick’s chest, and Nick’s toes tingle. He blinks sleepily, right on the verge of drifting off into a deep, sated sleep because he’s so fucked out.

Nick’s not even sure if he’s awake or dreaming when he vaguely registers Harry wrapping the covers around them and curling back up against him. The last thing he feels is Harry pressing a kiss to his shoulder and draping his arm over Nick’s chest.

-

When Nick rolls over in the middle of the night and finds himself in Harry’s bed his brain flickers with a vague warning.

Harry’s warm legs are tangled in his own and he’s sleeping soft and sweet, his head sharing the same pillow as Nick’s. He looks bloody angelic in the yellow light of the room. Nick leans over to flick off the bedside lamp, bathing the room in complete darkness. He doesn’t even entertain the idea of sneaking out, can’t imagine how Harry would take it if he woke up alone in bed. Nick _hates_ waking up alone after a shag. He just burrows back into the soft cocoon under the sheets, cuddling up close to Harry.

The warning flaring up in the back of his mind can wait ‘till morning.

-

A week into November, Nick takes Harry with him to a party at Patrick Wolf’s place. Nick and Patrick are good mates, and Nick loves playing him on his show. Patrick’s sent him a text that him and his boyfriend are throwing a bonfire party and Nick’s always up for a good time.

Patrick’s back garden is crammed with people. The set up is cosy, with fairy lights glowing along the fence and illuminating the garden. The weather is verging on a bit too chilly to be outside but, true to Patrick’s word, there’s a huge bonfire in the middle of the garden warming up the space, with people crowded around, beers in hand.

Nick finds a deck chair to lounge about in, a bummed smoke in hand and a bottle of Corona tucked between his thighs, having a chat with one of Patrick’s mates. He’s got tall blond hair and gorgeous cheekbones, his hands tucked into his leather moto jacket.

Harry’s gone off to get another drink and when he comes back, he sits down on the ground in front of Nick’s chair, his back pressing up warm against Nick’s knees. Nick’s free hand naturally goes to ruffle Harry’s windswept curls, and he watches as Patrick’s friend, a Jack or a John, surveys the movement, giving Nick a little eyebrow wiggle.

“He’s a cute one,” Jack-or-John says.

“Our Harry, here?” Nick says, tugging on Harry’s curls. Harry tips his head back and gives Jack-or-John his wide Cheshire smile, eyes crinkling.

“ _Hii_ ,” Harry says, positively preening under the attention, extending a hand to shake.

“Jack,” the lad says, clasping Harry’s hand--and that’s what his name was.

“He’s bloody adorable, is the thing, gonna get me in trouble,” Nick groans, taking a long drag off of his cigarette.  

Jack laughs. “I don’t doubt it.”

“D’you sing too?” Harry asks, addressing Jack politely.

“Oh no,” Jack says, “I just helped Patrick with a bit of sound-mixing on his latest album, it’s going to sound sick.”

“I can’t wait to be able to play it on the radio,” Nick says. “He’s sent me some samples and I’m really into it.”

“ _Heyy_ , I want to hear too,” Harry says with indignation, his pink bottom lip jutted out in the perfect impression of an upset puppy.

Jack is grinning. “You should go bug him about it then. Pretty sure he’d be happy to play you a bit off his phone. Especially if you keep doing that cute,” Jack waves his finger around, “thing with your dimples.”

Nick laughs out loud, and Harry just ducks his head, his hand coming up to his hair and fluffing up his curls, probably trying to cover up a light flush on his cheeks.

“Alright lads, I’ll leave you two to it. Have fun,” Jack says, winks at Nick and ambles off. Nick’s positive he was looking to pull and Harry showing up put a stop to his advances.

Under normal circumstances Nick would be bummed, but the warmth from Harry’s back is seeping through to his legs, and he keeps running his hands through Harry’s curls, too distracted to focus on Jack and what he wanted for too long.

“He was nice,” Harry says slowly, turning around so he can rest his chin on Nick’s knee.

“Mm-hmm,” Nick says. “Kind of looked like he wanted to eat you up with a spoon but I can’t really blame him.”

“Shut up, Nick,” Harry says, grinning now.

Nick kind of wants to pull Harry into his lap and make out for the rest of the night. He’s pretty sure no one at the party would blink an eye at that but Nick has too much self-control to be that reckless.

Instead, he tugs at Harry’s curls a bit, watching as Harry blinks slowly, looking all soft and pliant. “Mind if you grab me another beer from the cooler, love?” Nick asks.

Harry gazes back for a moment before he leans back with a nod.

“One more beer and then we head back to yours?” Harry asks, his fingertips casually coming up to graze at Nick’s thigh, a hopeful little smile on his face.

Nick laughs, a bit surprised at how direct Harry is when he wants something. “Yeah, alright, off you go. Get me a beer and I have to make nice with Patrick and his mates for a bit before we can head out.”

Harry nods before standing up. He casts a glance around and then seems to come to a decision, leaning down to give Nick a quick peck on the cheek.

“Good,” Harry says, grinning now and he turns away, casual as ever. Nick’s stunned for a moment and finds himself looking down at his hands, fiddling nervously with the label of the beer bottle between his thighs.

Somehow, Nick isn’t sure exactly how Harry managed to wrap him around his little finger but he tries not to think too much of it. He finishes off the last bit of his lukewarm beer before leaving his spot on the deck chair to go find Patrick.

-

The first time Harry fucks Nick, it’s hard and fast on Nick’s tiny twin sized bed in his parent’s house in Oldham that’s barely big enough for a fully-grown Nick, let alone the two of them. Harry had driven up to Oldham after having Christmas dinner at his mum’s, so he can have wine and dessert with Nick and his family. Harry fit right into his parents' living room amongst Nick's family, as if there had been a spot reserved for him on Nick's favorite cosy sofa.

They’d barely gotten to the dessert part when Nick couldn’t take any more of hearing his mum butter up Harry and his dad calling him Henry - they were so smitten with him, not unlike Nick himself. Nick needed to get Harry alone because they hadn't seen each other since he saw Harry on stage in Manchester four days ago, and they only had time for a brief dinner before One Direction were rushed off to Bradford for their next show. Nick had been itching to get his hands on Harry, and they quietly excused themselves and headed up to Nick's room after too much Yorkshire pudding and just enough wine. Nick felt just about ready to devour Harry the moment he'd shown up on his doorstep, and it was bloody agonizing having to sit through his family being completely embarrassing before he could get Harry all to himself. 

It’s been three months since they met and it’s been leading up to this, to Nick asking Harry to fuck him.

When Harry fingered Nick open with careful fingers the first time, he’d been slow and meticulous about it, saying, _“Sorry, sorry, I’ve never quite done it like this, you have to show me what you like.”_

Nick was floored by the gentle and drawn out way Harry approached sex with Nick, that he was genuinely careful even when his fingers were in Nick’s arse, trying his best to get it right and make it good for Nick. Nick _loves_ Harry’s fingers, he got off on the feeling of being stretched full and wide around his knuckles, Harry nudging up against his prostate and smiling against Nick’s mouth when Nick gasped at the touch. Harry had rubbed his fingers over and over that spot until Nick fell apart, and he kissed his mouth wet when Nick spurted up against his belly just from getting thoroughly fucked by Harry’s fingers.

Nick’s jerked off to the fantasy of Harry fucking him twenty times since Harry had told him he’d only fucked girls. Nick had to show him how he liked getting sucked off because Harry had only gone down on girls. He’d only ever tasted a girl’s cunt before, had known the way she’d felt wet and tight against his fingers and tongue.

 _That_ was a fun conversation to have and Nick had promptly told Harry to get on his hands and knees so he could show him exactly how lovely it was to have _him_ be the one who was wet and tight around someone else’s tongue and fingers. He proceeded to rim him until Harry was gasping and creaming up on Nick’s bedsheets.

Nick’s only ever seen Harry cry on the telly but when Harry was lying boneless and fucked out after having Nick’s tongue in his arse, Nick had brushed his sweaty fringe out of his face. He pretended not to notice how Harry rubbed at the corner of his eyes because he’d teared up from how long he had to wait until Nick told him he could come.

Usually, Nick doesn’t like being the one having to show a straight boy all the ropes but for some reason Harry’s inexperience was hitting every single one of his kinks like green lights.

Tonight though, Harry knows exactly how Nick likes to be jerked off, thumbing over Nick’s slit, knowing it's the fastest way to tip him over the edge. He kisses him with his tongue in Nick’s mouth, teasing him with his hand wet with lube, the other scratching at the hair on Nick’s chest and pulling Nick’s sensitive nipples roughly just how he likes.

It’s _so much_. Nick’s dick is leaking precome and he’s on the verge of spilling all over Harry’s hand when Harry stops and squeezes his fingers around his dick, finally trailing his fingers down to Nick’s perineum and rubbing two fingers against Nick’s hole, getting him wet. Harry pauses to drizzle more lube over his fingers so when he finally pushes into Nick with a finger it makes a wet squelch and Nick groans loud.

“Give me three, Harry, fucking christ. I’m _so_ close,” Nick gasps as he grips Harry’s wrist and tries to fuck himself faster on Harry’s finger.

Harry leans down to kiss Nick quiet and shushes him, fingering him slowly with two fingers and then finally dipping in three.

“Don’t be so quick to jump the getting off bit. Sex is only just half of that,” Harry murmurs against his mouth and Nick wants to cry.

“You’re fucking killing me. Stop being so romantic and _fuck me_ ,” Nick groans. He feels too warm, feels like he may just melt into the mattress.

Harry just laughs and continues to finger him slow and torturous. Brushing up against his prostate and making him see stars with every thrust of his long fingers.

“Just getting you all nice and stretched out for my cock. You’re really tight,” Harry whispers.

Nick’s dick jerks, more precome leaking from the tip. Harry’s got him pinned beneath him, working him up, teasing him with no relief in sight.

“Harry, if you don’t get to it I swear I’m going to come on your fingers instead of your cock,” Nick pants. He squeezes on Harry’s wrist, forcing him to stop. “Also, stop bloody prodding at my prostate. Are you trying to kill me?”

Harry laughs because he’s a mad person who loves to see Nick suffer.

“Yep, there it is. That’s what I was looking for. What’s the magic word, Nick?” Harry practically purrs as he slips his fingers out, batting his eyelashes up at Nick, who groans at the empty feeling.

“Please, Harry. _Please_ fuck me. Please give it to me popstar, I’m _begging_ for your cock, I want it to split me open,” Nick moans, his running commentary loud and dramatic because he’s obnoxious and needy, and he's pretty sure he’s dripping on the sheets from how wet Harry got him.

Harry’s got a huge grin on his face, his cheeks flushed so red when he rips at a condom with his teeth and rolls it on. Nick helps him jerk the length of his cock with more lube and then finally, _finally,_ Harry pushes Nick’s knees up to his chest and rubs the head of his cock over his hole. Snubbing over it and teasing until he’s finally inside, nudging the head of his cock past Nick’s rim.

Nick groans loud and is pretty sure he’s saying _yes, yes_ and promising Harry his firstborn or confessing his undying love but his head is so filled up with static from the pleasure of Harry’s cock stretching him out that he doesn’t even care how he sounds. Harry knows how much Nick loves the length of his cock hard in his mouth, how Nick told him he usually prefers to give, but if someone’s cock is nice enough, he’d bend over and take it. Nick relishes the feeling of being full up, gasps when Harry nudges his cock all the way in and pauses to thrust, deep inside Nick.

“Shit. You’re so tight Nick,” Harry says, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open with a loud moan. His hands clench over Nick’s knees and push his legs further back towards his chest.

“ _Ah_ ,” Nick groans, Harry’s hips pressing snug against his own, everything hitting in just the right palces. “Stay there for a moment, bloody hell.”

Nick hasn’t been fucked in a while, and Harry’s cock is more than the three fingers he’s been getting from Harry the fast few weeks. He’s seated so deep inside Nick that Nick is feeling a bit overwhelmed, trying to adjust to the feeling of being full up.

Nick can hear Harry’s heavy breaths and how he’s holding himself still above him, his hips just barely nudging Nick’s in desperation. “S’that alright?” Harry asks. “S’good? _Fuck_. Nick.” Harry seems a bit overwhelmed himself.

Nick nods and tilts his hips up, a hand clenched in the sheets and his other covering Harry’s own. “Yeah, c’mon,” he says.

Harry leans back and thrusts his cock in, staying deep and close to where Nick’s pressed over the sheets. Everything feels so hot, Nick’s heart beating rapidly, and when Harry spreads a palm over Nick’s chest, he wonders if he can feel how hard his heart is thudding there. Between the two of them, they settle into a steady rhythm, Nick fucking back onto Harry’s cock with every thrust he makes. Harry somehow gets Nick’s legs up over his shoulders and Nick’s definitely going to feel that later, but it feels so good and just pushes him closer to the edge.

“C’mon, I’m close. You can go faster, _fuck_ ,” Nick gasps, and Harry screws his eyes shut and doubles his efforts. He starts to fuck Nick hard and fast, the bedframe thumping against the wall loudly. It’s a blessing that everyone’s still downstairs getting well past drunk off of red wine and blasting Buble’s Christmas album or else Nick would getting it from his older brother and sister tomorrow.

It’s so hot, Nick is overheated and sticky, feeling like he’s on fire. He can feel the tell-tale tingling in his toes and his own heart loud in his ears, the room feeling like it’s melting around him and Nick’s honestly about to melt right down with it.

“Harry,” he says warningly, and Harry thrusts deep and nudges up against his prostate.

“ _Harry,_ ” he says again. Reaching his hand up to twist at his own nipples, needing a little extra to try and push himself just over the edge.

Nick doesn’t get past, “ _I’m…_ ” before his dick jerks and he’s coming hard.

He vaguely registers someone groaning loudly, and he's a little embarrassed to realize that it's him. Harry’s managed to get a hand between them and his fist is wrapped tight around Nick’s dick, pumping fast and slick so Nick’s spilling come over his stomach and his chest.

Nick gasps at the feeling of Harry still inside him, everything just this side of too sensitive after coming and Harry is panting loudly, still nailing into Nick over and over, the thumping of the headboard sounding like a constant thrum. “Nick,” Harry says and Nick can feel the twinge in his thighs, Harry pressing his legs against his chest and settling there when he comes, cock jerking inside Nick.

His mouth is dropped open in a silent gasp, inches away from Nick’s face, his tongue peeking through, and Nick can’t resist pressing two fingers in there, sticky with his own come. Harry bites down on his fingers immediately, tongue curling around them and tasting Nick. Nick groans at the sight as Harry hollows his slick mouth around Nick’s fingers, sucking them down before letting them slip with a _pop_ so he can pull out of Nick.

He moves back shakily, cock slipping out and Nick’s legs finally get relief from being nearly up at his shoulders as his feet plant back on the bed. “Ow,” Nick says, his hamstrings twinging. He does _not_ have the young and fit body  _or_ the stamina of a seventeen year old anymore.

Harry gets up to toss the condom and Nick watches the length of his body in the dark room, his soft thighs and the heavy weight of his cock between them. He flicks on a dingy old desk lamp which casts a shadow across the room, finds a towel draped on the desk chair, the one Nick had tossed there when he popped in the shower right before Harry had come over.

He lumbers back to bed and settles back in with Nick, crawling over him and squeezing into the space between the wall and Nick, propped up on elbow and gently wiping the the come off of Nick’s belly and chest with the corner of the towel. He even nudges Nick to lift up his knees a bit so he can wipe down where Nick’s still wet between his cheeks, slow and methodical, taking his time to make sure Nick is all cleaned up before he tosses the towel down on the ground.

Nick’s blinking sleepily, letting Harry’s hand roam back over his belly and inching up to brush over his puffy nipples, up to the necklaces that got pushed up and tangled round Nick’s neck.

“ _Hmmm_ , Harry,” Nick starts, as Harry leans over him to straighten out the necklaces methodically, eyebrows furrowed in a concentrated fashion. “You sure you never shagged a lad before? You really know how to give it, eh?” Nick says softly and his hole is still throbbing pleasantly, his heartbeat finally slowing down as he tries not to slip off into sleep.

If Harry wasn’t so flushed and sweaty, Nick knows his cheeks would be pinking up in a blush. Instead he doesn’t answer, bites his lip between his teeth and his fingers messing with the necklaces until they’re straightened out properly. He looks at Nick then and blinks sleepily, leans over to peck him on the mouth, and then settles back down on the bed so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder next to Nick in the too-small bed.

He’s still quiet, and Nick hums contemplatively. Harry finds Nick’s hand to interlace their fingers, and it’s sweet, how he lifts their hands so he can kiss at Nick’s knuckles. Nick is feeling proper romanced, now. He’s starting to get used to Harry taking care of him after a good long shag and the warning signs are flashing in his head. Before Harry, Nick can’t remember the last time he didn’t just fall asleep with a stranger in his bed and found himself waking up alone. It’s been months, if not years, since someone took the time to take care of him after a good dicking, and then still crawl back into bed and kiss Nick like they were his boyfriend. Nick thinks his heart is thumping quickly again just at the realization of it all.

“I still can’t feel my toes,” Harry rasps, his voice so deep and fucked out that Nick’s pretty sure he could get it up again if Harry keeps speaking to him.

“Mmmmm...” Nick agrees, and wiggles his own toes happily, turning over so he’s facing Harry, draping his thigh over Harry’s legs and cuddling close.

He resolves to turn his brain off and just enjoy having a cute boy tucked in his bed, being soft and warm and inviting. Nick reminds himself Harry’s not expecting anything from Nick other than some cuddles and maybe a midnight snack of tea and Christmas cookies before they drop off to sleep. Harry’s looking at him with a soft smile, his eyes big and shining in the dim light of the room. He’s looking at Nick in a way that reads as he if really _likes_ him, and it sends Nick’s heart racing. In the back of his mind, Nick wonders if Harry’s been looking at him like that all night, all through dessert with his parents, even when Nick got him alone in his room and before they started snogging.

He hears Aimee in his head telling Nick to _be careful_ , because Harry’s _young_ and Nick’s _Nick_ and at some point she must have caught Harry looking at Nick the way he is now. Like he wants to kiss him and maybe keep kissing him just so everyone can see, with a stupid smile on his face and their hands tangled together. People write songs about the way Harry’s looking at him now, and if Nick had an inkling of creative talent maybe he would be too.

Nick bites his lip and leans over to kiss Harry, mouthing at his lips so he can dip his tongue inside. Harry sighs against his mouth and trails his fingers so they’re just resting on Nick’s shoulder, and Nick's knuckles brush against Harry's belly. Nick cuddles closer to him, settling down and laying his head between the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder. He’s practically laying half on top of Harry, with their legs tangled together, but Harry just drapes his arm around Nick’s waist, tugging him closer and dragging up the scratchy blue bedsheet and Nick's old dinosaur duvet so they’re settled warm and cosy underneath it.

“Wanna kip for a bit and then head down for some eggnog? Olive’s made some Christmas cookies earlier today and tucked them away, but I know where she hid them, and I think we need to steal like, _all_ of them,” Nick mumbles into Harry’s skin. Harry just nods and squeezes Nick’s shoulder before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Sounds wonderful. Sleep now,” Harry whispers, and Nick hums noncommittally in response, closes his eyes and lets his hand rest over Harry’s heart, where he can feel it beating soft and steady.

-

For Harry’s eighteenth birthday Nick arranges a night of bar hopping in Shoreditch with Pixie's help. Nick hasn’t seen Harry since New Year’s Eve, but when Harry texted him that he’d be back from doing press in America, Nick had immediately jumped on the idea of taking Harry out for birthday shenanigans. The three of them decide to meet up outside a tube station, Nick shooting off texts to some of his mates to join them along the way. Nick starts the night with a promise to himself to stay relatively sober, but he fails somewhere between his fourth beer and first Jack and Coke.

They end up tucked in a corner of a nondescript bar right around midnight, their party having grown to include Aimee plus Patrick and his boyfriend Tom. Pixie texted Daisy to join them too, and she showed up to celebrate Harry’s birthday with them even though Nick’s certain it’s the first time the two of them are meeting. They’re all seated around a booth with a large circular table and two pitchers of sangria, Nick had ordered one red and one white. Harry’s lips are stained a delicious wine red and he’s seated right in between Nick and Daisy, pressing all along Nick’s side in the tight squeeze of the booth. Nick’s glad they found a cosy spot to end the night in, and he sips at the white sangria, the tang of citrus biting at his senses.

Harry’s eyes had widened in recognition when Daisy had sauntered into the last bar they were at, and he had shoved Nick nervously. After the initial introductions, with Harry’s cheeks and ears turning pink when Daisy pressed a kiss to his cheek, Harry seemed to regain his composure and charm, rubbing at his cheek with an absent minded smile as they whispered to each other, friendly and warm.

Nick had smirked at the whole thing, because Harry’s eighteen and obviously has a big blatant crush on one of Nick’s best mates. Nick can hardly blame him, Daisy’s looking drop dead gorgeous as usual, dressed in an effortlessly sexy black dress with a pair of tall red pumps, the lace trim of her dress dotting over where the neckline dips low. Daisy’s red bra strap peeks out, and it matches the exact shade of her lipstick; Nick _knows_ it’s on purpose, because Daisy never does anything in halves. The woman is a damn siren even when she’s not trying to be.

Nick would usually think the whole thing was cute, if it weren’t for that nagging feeling in his gut and bloody hell. Nick belatedly realizes he’s feeling _envious_ of his best mate over her shared laughter with a boy, _his_ boy. Nick had spent ages picking out his outfit and doing up his quiff for their night out, and he doesn’t remember Harry looking at him with sultry bedroom eyes, like he’d wanted to devour him on the spot outside the tube station earlier. Nick knows he isn’t a twenty-three year old model with several GQ and Playboy spreads tucked under his sleeve, but that still doesn’t make it any better that someone’s sat at their table that Harry clearly wants to shag and it’s _not_ Nick.

Despite Nick’s nerves, Harry’s settled easily at the table, leaning with his chin tucked under a fist and his cheeky wide grin, holding up conversation with everyone casual and relaxed as ever. Harry’s other hand occasionally finds Nick’s under the table to give him a tight squeeze, and if anything that makes Nick feel a little smug that Harry is definitely going home with _him_ tonight.

That makes Nick feel a little confident, and with his head feeling fuzzy from that little bit of Jack from earlier mixed with all the wine from his sangria, Nick finds himself tugging Harry right into his lap. They were tucked so close together anyway and Nick is drunk and feeling reckless enough to not give a shit who might see. It makes Harry laugh delightedly in surprise, and he’s quick to jump to the program because Harry _is_ reckless, and most times Nick is the one that has to reel him in. Right now though, Nick presses a kiss to his neck and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, nuzzling a bit where Harry’s curls are tickling his cheek. The whole thing is a bit of a silent _fuck you, Harry’s mine tonight_.

He’s not even aware what he’s doing but it’s clearly bold enough to make Aimee’s eyebrows go up from across the table, and he can see her exchanging knowing looks with Pixie. He sticks his tongue out at Aimee and she just smirks, sticking her tongue out in response. Nick’s arms are wrapped around Harry’s middle, one of his hands sneakily edging up under Harry’s shirt and right above the line of his hip, fingers a teasing touch at the hot skin there. It makes Harry squirm in his lap wonderfully and Nick is so bloody into this turn of events. Patrick is grinning at the sight of them, winking at Nick and giving him the least subtle thumbs up ever.

Nick just lightly bites at the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder, and Harry honestly gasps. “ _Nick_ ,” he says, his hands gripping tightly at where Nick’s holding him, giving him a squeeze. He’s smiling though, and he turns his head an inch to catch Nick’s lips in a searing hot kiss.

It barely lasts a moment but Nick can’t help but slip him a bit of cheeky tongue, making it wet and good, and it’s enough to have everyone at table giggling with a chorused, _Ooooh_. Honestly, Nick’s mates are thirteen bloody years old. He can’t help but be smug and pleased about it though, and he grins at Harry, who’s giggling and blushing in his lap, his wine stained lips slick and bitten red.

It’s not the worst way they could’ve ended the night.

-

When Nick can’t find Harry’s keys in his pockets he ends up having to ring the doorbell to Harry and Louis’s place at two in the morning. He’s got one of Harry’s arms draped over his shoulder, Harry’s hand gripped in his, and his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling his dead weight along. Harry keeps snuffling sleepily, saying things like, “ _you’re such a good mate, Nick. Always take such good care of me._ ”

Maybe letting Harry get sloppy drunk wasn’t the best idea, but it’s his bloody eighteenth birthday and it’s his God-given right to get properly twatted, Nick’s certain of it. Nick didn’t think either of them would end up back at Harry’s for the night anyway, it was just a matter of convenience.

When Louis gets the door, he has a grim look on his face, glancing at the sight of them with a roll of his eyes before he nudges the door wide open and lets them through the threshold. Suddenly Nick is feeling a shadow of guilt, like he’s just disappointed Harry’s mum or something as equally dreadful.

“Thanks, Grimshaw,” Louis says with a tight smile. “I think I can take it from here.”

Louis is dressed down in cosy looking grey joggers and an oversized shirt. He doesn’t look like he was sleeping, rather, that he’d decided to wait up for Harry. Nick can hear the low buzz of the telly from somewhere inside the flat.

“Umm… yeah. Of course. That would be lovely of you, except for the fact that the cabbie’s just fucked off. Our Hazza has already told me I could crash here since you guys were closer than mine at this point,” Nick says, trying not to stumble over his words. So much for trying to stay sober.

“Yeah,” Harry says, half-asleep and still clutching at Nick’s coat. “Grimmy’s with me tonight, s’alright, Lou. You can go to bed.”

Lou’s lips are turned down in a frown but he nods, and moves out of the way so Nick and Harry have room to head to Harry’s bedroom. Nick settles Harry on the bed and then goes to toe off his shoes by the door and click Harry’s door shut, lending them an inkling of privacy from where Louis has headed back to the living room. Harry is blinking sleepily, inching up on the bed and trying to remove his Chelsea boots at the same time.

Nick grabs the empty glass of water from Harry’s bed and goes into the ensuite bathroom to fill it up, grabbing some paracetamol for them both from the medicine cabinet over the sink. When he’s returned to Harry, Harry’s half under the sheets with his boots off and his jeans still on. He’s not asleep yet but he can barely keep his eyes open.

Nick hands him the water and medicine wordlessly and Harry takes them, mumbling a quiet “Thanks.”

Nick strips down to his boxers and nudges at Harry to do the same.

“Get naked so we can have some cuddles,” Nick says.

Harry’s smirking but he miraculously manages to get his shirt off and slides his jeans and pants down in one go, tossing them off to the side of the bed and then crawling up by Nick. Nick’s not expecting it but Harry gets right on top of Nick and gives Nick a big wet snog, his hips settled on top of Nick’s and God, Nick is so drunk and exhausted but his cock gives a twitch of interest in his pants.

“Nick,” Harry says between kisses, his tongue thick and mouth slick against Nick’s. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this when we snogged in front of all of your mates.”

Nick smirks, his hands coming up to settle on Harry’s bum.

“You’re such a bloody exhibitionist, Styles,” Nick says, giving Harry’s bum a playful slap and Harry gasps, grinding his cock against Nick’s.

“I _want_ you,” Harry groans.

“Yeah? You want everyone to see how much you like having my tongue in your mouth?” Nick presses on. Oh, he could _definitely_ get into this.

“ _God, yes_ ,” Harry says, and his cock is fully hard now, his hips thrusting faster. He’s getting Nick’s boxers wet with precome, and Nick slides a hand down to grip him in his fist.

“How about how much you like my tongue in your arse? Would you like them to see that too?” Nick says, his thumb pressing at Harry’s slit, gripping Harry’s cock loose in his fist. His other hand is inching round Harry’s bum and drifting into his crack, just lightly petting there and getting Harry even more worked up.

Harry moans loud and pornographic and Nick gives his arse another slap at that.

“Quiet Harry,” Nick whispers. “Louis is right outside in the living room. D’you want him to hear you too?” He jerks slowly at Harry’s dick where it’s hot and tight in between their bodies. It’s a little sloppy and uncoordinated, but he can tell Harry already on the edge and won’t need much more than this.

“ _Fuck_ , Nick,” Harry groans, his voice quiet and harsh. He tucks his head into Nick’s shoulder, his curls gone loose, hips jerking erratically as he fucks Nick’s fist.

“I want him to hear you come, Harry. Can you come for me?” Nick says, and Harry groans loud, cock spurting and getting Nick’s hand wet. Nick pumps him through it and Harry’s come is all over Nick’s boxers and belly, Harry still gasping and trying to muffle the sound as he curls up on top of Nick.

Nick slyly wipes his hand on the sheets drags the other hand up to grip at Harry’s neck where it’s a little damp with sweat, tugging at his curls and pulling his head up so he can kiss him. Harry’s tongue is sloppy, but he kisses back with enthusiasm and Nick’s cock is rock hard against his pants.

“Wanna make you come,” Harry mumbles against his mouth.

“I’m not gonna need much,” Nick gasps honestly, and tips his head back as Harry’s hand cups over his cock.

Harry props himself up and begins to crawl down Nick’s body, and then he mouths over Nick’s cock in his boxers, tugging the waistband down to Nick’s thighs. He takes Nick’s cock in his fist and jerks it before taking Nick in his mouth. He takes Nick deep, bobbing up and down while he weaves his tongue over the underside of Nick’s cock. Nick looks down to see the way Harry’s lips are wrapped around his length, bites his lip at the sight, and fists his hands in Harry’s hair. Nick fucks into his mouth twice and then moans in warning. Harry pulls off so just the head of Nick’s cock rests on his tongue, and Nick starts to come all over Harry’s tongue and lips, getting his mouth messy with come. Harry looks absolutely wrecked, staring up at Nick with heavy lids, come dripping onto his chin, and Nick’s dick twitches one last time at the sight.

“You’re a menace,” Nick groans, swiping his hand through the mess before tucking his come covered thumb into Harry’s mouth. He sucks greedily, eyes fluttering, before he crawls back up the bed. He lays down next to Nick, still sticky and splattered with come, but Nick doesn’t give a shit, pulling Harry down for a kiss.

“Mmm,” Harry hums against his mouth. “Love the way you taste,” he murmurs.

Nick’s bloody _fucked_. He just nips at Harry’s bottom lip before he tips him off to the side. Nick gets his pants off from where the waistband was still cutting around his thighs, and the pair gets lost somewhere in the sheets by the foot of the bed. Nick grabs at the bedsheet so he can tug it up around them and use the corner to wipe at Harry’s cheek, at the dots of come still on his chin. Harry’s eyes are closed and Nick wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already fallen asleep on him. They’d been out drinking for ages and Harry must be bloody exhausted.

“You’re a dirty one,” Nick whispers, and the corner of Harry’s mouth lifts at that.

“I’m not the one who said _I want him to hear you come_ tonight,” Harry mumbles, his eyes blinking open and he’s smirking wide at Nick now.

“‘Twas in the heat of the moment,” Nick says, poking at Harry’s cheek. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re into.”

Harry catches at his hand and tugs it close so he can brush a light kiss there.

“I’m into _you_ ,” Harry says, his voice soft.

 _Christ_ , Nick thinks.

“And you’re into everyone knowing I’m into you too,” Nick says.

“It _was_ pretty hot snogging you in public tonight,” Harry teases, his Cheshire smile out in full force. He hums a little tune, says, “ _I don’t care what people say when we’re together,_ ” in a sing-song voice.

“What’s that?” Nick says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just something I’m working on. You’ll find out soon,” Harry says and leans in to give him a peck on the mouth.

Nick noses at him, his heart thudding.

They fall asleep like that, with Harry’s fingers wrapped around Nick’s in the space in between them.

-

Turns out, Harry’s promise of “ _You’ll find out soon_ ,” means a week into Harry leaving for tour in America. Seemingly out of the blue, Nick receives an e-mail with an empty subject line in his inbox from him with just one thing attached: _sohappily.mp3_.

It means that Nick has to lock himself in the BBC toilets after recording a spot for his upcoming Breakfast gig to listen to the MP3 on the tinny speakers of his iPhone, his heart pounding when Harry’s voice rings out loud in the empty restroom. When Nick makes the connection with the lyrics, “ _I don’t care what people say when we’re together_ ,” sneaks up on him like deja-vu. He walks blindly backwards until his back hits the tiled wall, and he finds himself sliding down into a crouch on the floor, burying his head in his hands.

It’s _so much_. The song is brilliant and honest and so _Harry_ that Nick doesn’t know what to do with himself. Harry wrote a song for him and it’s wonderful and catchy as hell. It’s the last thing Nick expected, he’d been moping around in Harry’s absence and they’ve been texting but it’s not like Harry being in London, being in Nick’s bed, just out of reach in Nick’s life.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, how much Nick misses Harry in this moment, how much he wishes Harry were right in front of him so he could kiss him stupid and murmur his thanks against his mouth. He feels paralyzed, crouched down by the tiled floor, the song tapering off towards the end and Nick hitting replay so he can hear it all over again.

What on earth is he supposed to say to Harry? What do you say to someone who writes you a love song? Because it _is_ a love song, he doesn’t need to read between the lines when Harry’s blatantly crooning _“I wanna be the one to hold you in your sleep.”_ It’s not rocket science.

Nick ponders how this became his life, having songs written for him by millionaire popstars. He finds himself getting up and starting to pace across the restroom, pausing the song so he can call Harry on speed dial.

“Harry,” Nick says when Harry picks up the phone with a “ _Hiiii._ ”

“Nick!” Harry yells back, a laugh in his voice.

“You’re absolutely mental, Harry Styles,” Nick says, and he’s grinning so wide, rubbing his shaking hand on the rough fabric of his jeans.

Harry wrote _him_ a love song. Harry wrote him an _actual_ love song.

“Oh, is this your way of saying thanks, then? Calling me a nutter?” Harry asks teasingly.

“You bloody well know so,” Nick says. “Harry, it’s so good. What on earth were you thinking? Where did that even come from?”

“ _Hmm_ , well there’s this really fit lad I know who inspired the whole thing,” Harry drawls, and Nick laughs out loud.

Harry’s laughing too. “You really liked it?” he asks, voice going quiet and soft.

“Liked it is an understatement. It’s such a tune. I’m so obsessed with it, I replayed it about eight times already and it’s the only thing I’ll be singing in the shower for the next month, I can assure you of it,” Nick says, hoping his voice conveys his gratitude.

“Wish I could be there to hear that firsthand,” Harry murmurs.

Nick hums. “I’m proper missing you right now,” he whispers. He feels pretty miserable about it, the crackly line connecting him to Harry a thousand miles away feeling like a blessing and a curse.

“Miss you too, Nick.”

Nick feels choked up and he absolutely has to get off the phone before his voice cracks.

“Can’t wait ‘til you’re back. I’m going to kiss you so much,” he says.

Harry laughs and it sounds like he’s sniffling. _Christ_ , they’re both a pair of saps.

“Sounds perfect. Thinking about kissing you right now,” Harry says, his voice tapering off into a whisper.

“Me too,” Nick says, and he sighs shakily. “Love, I have to run now, but… honestly, thank you. I’m a bit speechless.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Harry says. “Text me when you’re home later, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course I will. Bye, Harry,” Nick says, and he waits for Harry’s response before he clicks off. He looks down at his phone, notifying him their call lasted just under five minutes, and takes a long, deep breath.

He fixes his hair nervously in the mirror and then pops out of the toilets, his phone hot in his hand and his fingers hovering over the screen, group text with Aimee and Pixie open.

Instead of saying anything, Nick decides to just forward them a clip of the song and adds a short, “ _Holy shit_ ,” hoping the girls aren’t too busy to freak out over this with him.

He sets off back to the studio, his mind buzzing with the catchy tune, the sound of Harry’s voice singing it to him a winding melody wrapping around his head.

-

When Harry’s back in London, his schedule packed full with promo for the new album, he manages to get a day off and come see Nick. Nick’s sat on the sofa waiting for Harry who’s popped into Nick’s shower, no doubt using up all of Nick’s hot water and finishing off the last of his favorite Tom Ford shower gel.

When Harry joins him in the living room he’s wearing Nick’s shirt and boxers, smelling like Nick’s expensive bath products. It’s lovely and Nick wants to pull him on his lap and kiss him silly.

“God, love that showerhead of yours, water pressure is so good. S’like being home,” Harry says, running his hand through the wet tangles of his hair.

Nick grins and pulls at Harry’s hand where he’s come to stand by the couch, tugging him close so he has to kneel over Nick in order to kiss him.

The tips of Harry’s hair brushes at his cheeks, but his mouth is warm and so familiar against his own. Nick pulls him in closer, his hand snaking into Harry’s damp hair and his arm wrapping around his waist, so Harry’s pulled flush against him. Harry settles over Nick’s lap, his thighs splayed around where Nick’s sat in the depths of his squishy sofa.

Nick’s hands wander up the back of Harry’s shirt, and Harry smells overwhelmingly like Nick’s laundry detergent, and it feels so right, that Harry’s back here in his flat, draped in his clothes and smelling like he’s Nick’s. Nick groans against Harry’s mouth and Harry just dips his tongue into the kiss, making it wet and feeling all-encompassing.

They make out for ages just like that, Nick’s mouth starting to feel puffy and tender from where Harry’s mouth and tongue have laid claim over him. They kiss slow and sexy, and it’s relaxed enough that Nick doesn’t feel the need to speed up the pace, enjoying the feeling of having Harry here, pressed up against him and so warm and willing.

Harry shifts and puts space between them, slowing down so Nick’s head is tipped against the headrest and he’s pecking warm dry kisses against his mouth, like he’s trying to stop kissing him but can’t resist the magnetic pull between them. Nick clutches at Harry’s hips and blinks in a daze, his lashes fluttering open and registering the light flush on Harry’s cheeks, the way his lips are looking red and puffy too. Harry grins lazily at him, and Nick can’t help but smile back, his hand coming up so he can rub his thumb against Harry’s swollen bottom lip. Harry lets out a happy little sigh and sinks into Nick, burrowing his head against Nick’s chest so Nick’s forced to wrap his arms around him and hold him there.

It’s all a bit sappy but Nick’s heart is thudding happily, and he can’t help but remember the song Harry wrote for him. _So this is what it’s like,_ Nick thinks.

They stay just like that, wrapped around each other for a bit, until Harry’s belly rumbles hungrily and they both burst out laughing.

“Think that’s my cue to go find some food. Is your fridge stocked?” Harry asks, pulling back to glance at Nick. Nick nods, he’d gone to the store yesterday and gotten some of Harry’s favorite fixings.

“Brilliant,” Harry says, and gives him a peck on the cheek before he gets on his knees again and hauls himself off of Nick. Nick immediately misses the warmth of having Harry draped over him but they’ll have loads of time for that later. He gets up to join Harry in the kitchen so they can throw something together for lunch.

-

Harry and Nick are back on his couch an hour later watching back-to-back episodes of Nigella, full up from bacon sandwiches and hot cups of tea. Harry’s hardly watching, his head is in Nick’s lap, body stretched across the length of the sofa and his legs hanging off the arm of it. He’s messing with his phone, showing Nick random things off of his feed and probably multitasking and answering emails as well. Nick’s hand is stroking through Harry’s curls distractedly and he’s watching Nigella frost a massive three-tiered cake, and he’s telling Harry how much he wants to stick his finger in that bowl of vanilla-bean frosting.

Harry looks amused, and Nick doesn’t notice he’s put his phone down and is staring at him til Harry pokes his cheek, a funny little move that Nick’s come to know as Harry trying to say pay attention to me! He’s a literal child.

“Nick,” Harry’s saying, and Nick glances down at him, his fingers pushing back the curls of his fringe and his other hand resting high up on Harry’s chest, absentmindedly stroking at the slightly raised skin of the birds etched on Harry’s chest.

“Yeah, love?” Nick responds.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry says, and he’s still laying in Nick’s lap, looking totally calm, his eyes focused up at a spot on the ceiling, like he’s a bit distracted. There’s something serious about the tone of his voice though and so Nick gets the remote and mutes the telly, his fingers finding their place back in Harry’s hair when he’s done.

“What is it, Harry?” Nick asks.

“So I’ve been thinking and like… I wanted to tell you that I think I’ve figured out what it is that I like,” Harry says, and Nick’s a bit confused but he nods at Harry to continue.

“What I mean is that, I’m pretty sure I’m... bisexual but I’m not quite,” Harry pauses, biting his thumbnail and looking up at Nick, “like, ready? You know?”

Nick’s heart sinks, a bit, but he just nods. Harry just turned eighteen earlier this year. Of course he can’t expect him to figure out everything after a string of shags with Nick.

“Love,” he says, “No one expects anything out of you, you know that, right? Like, I’m not sitting here waiting for you to come to me and tell me whether you fancy boys or girls or anyone else in between. It’s not a big thing. You have all the time in the world to figure out what you like. Or who you like. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

He hasn’t paused the movement of his fingers where he’s gently stroking Harry’s curls and Harry is staring back, wide-eyed, young and vulnerable. He slowly nods.

“Yeah.. I just. I need to say it out loud or else it gets all muddled up for me, Grim. It’s like when I’m at the store and there’s three kinds of bread pudding on sale and I want all three of them, but I can’t possibly get all three, you know? Like I have to decide which one I’m taking home with me cause I’m running late for an appointment and I’m running out of time.”

Nick snorts.

“Not quite sure what bread pudding has to do with what you like but I get it. I think. I need you to be really vocal with me though. Is that alright, Harry? Cause I’m not going to know. I mean, now I know you’re not ready because you told me but I need you to know that I...” Nick pauses and wonders if it’s too much. But, just as Harry said to him, he has to say it for his own peace of mind. He hopes he doesn’t regret it.  

“I want you all the time. Me wanting you and us doing this. It’s been like, nine months? I’ve never even had a boyfriend for more than probably two months max. And then he ditched me because he said I was too neurotic or something for him...” Nick tapers off into a whisper.

Harry is looking at him with his big eyes, completely rapt with attention.

“That’s shit,” he says in a small voice.

“I know, right? I mean, what an utter arsehole but I was so broken up about it at the time. Now that I think of it we were never really even that compatible in life _or_ bed but anyway. What I was trying to say was that,” Nick takes a deep breath. “We’ve been weirdly steady for two people who aren’t even dating and I still want you more than ever, you know? I’m not even tired of it, I’m not even tired of _you_. You’re like a constant thing for me, I’m afraid I’m a bit mad about you.”

“Just a bit?” Harry asks, his cheeks pinking up and a slow smile curving up on his mouth. 

“Teeny tiny bit,” Nick says, deadpan and with a grin. “But to be perfectly honest with you, I _constantly_ want to suck your popstar dick.” 

Harry giggles and winds his fingers around Nick’s neck so he can pull him down and brush a kiss against his mouth.

“That’s sweet, Nick,” he murmurs, soft like a whisper against Nick’s lips. Nick pecks at his mouth once more and leans back again, because he’s not quite done talking to Harry yet. 

“You know it’s not just the sex though, right? Like, I don’t care if you can’t figure out where you lay on the spectrum, that doesn’t matter to me. I can wait till you’re ready, just give me the go-ahead when you are, yeah?” 

 _God_ , Nick thinks. He can’t believe he just talked about his feelings without completely flipping out. Maybe he really is approaching his mid-life crises. Or maybe he just bypassed it at a wrong turn or something, because he doesn’t feel weird or anxious at all. He knows this isn’t it, that Harry being unsure is probably something they need to have several conversations about, but despite that Nick feels a warm, happy feeling curling in his stomach. Every time Harry smiles against his mouth his heart just starts beating a tiny bit faster. Nick is _so_ fucked.

“But really,” Nick presses on, “you can always change your mind or if something just feels too much, don’t hesitate to tell me, alright, love?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. He sits up from where he was laying on the couch and settles next to Nick, folding his legs up under him and stretching his arms out above his head in a big yawn. “Thanks, Nick.”

“You’re spending the night here, right?” Nick asks, nudging his shoulder against where Harry’s sat next to him.

Harry bites his lip and finds Nick’s hand where it’s resting in his lap, turning it so he can interlace their fingers together and press a kiss to Nick’s knuckles.

“I’d love to, but I really think I should head out after dinner, actually. I’m parked out on the street and I don’t want to have to wake up at 8 AM to move the car. Plus, I’m pretty certain the lads are trying to be in the studio a bit earlier than usual tomorrow,” Harry says. 

Nick is a bit surprised, but he doesn’t say anything. Nine times out of ten Harry ends up crashing right next to him in bed even if he has work in the morning, and this is apparently not one of those times. Nick understands though, Harry has important popstar things to do and the world cannot constantly revolve around him, as much as he may like it to. 

“Alright...” Nick says slowly. “Will I see you after work tomorrow?”

Harry’s going to be leaving again in two weeks and Nick wants to squeeze in as much time with him as possible.

“Yeah, obviously. Like I’d miss any second to see you,” Harry says, and that makes Nick smile. “Also, I hope you realize dinner means I want a bit of wine _and_ sex tonight.” 

Nick laughs. “I see how it is, Styles,” he says. “Alright, we can do that. But I’ve only got Pinot Grigio right now and I know how much you love your Merlot. We’re going to have to pop into the shops if you’re insisting on me making you a posh dinner tonight.”

“Oh no, you’ve already done lunch. White wine’s fine, I don’t really want to have to leave your flat right now. What I meant is that _you’d_ be my dinner,” Harry says, and he lets his hand drift from where it was by Nick’s belly to cup over the soft bulge of his cock in his joggers. 

“Bloody hell,” Nick says, and he tips his head back on the couch, his hips tilting up as Harry’s hand massages over him, coaxing his cock into hardness.

Harry shuffles close and presses open-mouthed kisses over Nick’s neck, making Nick gasp when he nips at his skin between his teeth and laves his tongue over Nick, no doubt planning on sucking a lovebite there, marking Nick up. 

Harry keeps him there, tugging at Nick’s cock until he’s fully hard and then getting down on his knees in front of Nick on the sofa, taking Nick deep in his mouth and getting him off just like that.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in a sex-drunk haze, Nick’s skin flushed from the white wine Harry insists on them sharing. “ _It’s dinner, remember?_ ” he says, and pours Nick another glass. Nick’s head is muzzy when Harry pushes him onto his bed, pulling Nick up on his knees so he can finger him open and fuck him from behind. Nick loses count of how many times Harry makes him come, and he tastes every inch of Harry’s skin as they spend hours in Nick’s bed.

Nick feels full and drunk and his thighs are getting sore, mouth raw, but Nick’s also feeling _happy_ and that’s what counts.

 _God_ , Harry is honestly spoiling Nick rotten. 

Nick’s not about to start complaining about it, and he finds himself pushing at Harry’s shoulders so he’s propped against his pillows. Nick crawls down his body, his mouth already watering and his tongue licking at the soft skin of Harry’s belly. He pushes Harry’s thighs up so he can mouth over the head of his cock and take his length in his fist, drags his tongue all the way further so he’s rubbing at Harry’s perineum. He licks over his rim, fucking his tongue where Harry’s wound up the hottest, and Harry’s panting loud, saying Nick’s name over and over the closer he gets to coming.

Nick keeps Harry trapped here now, caught between the sheets and Nick’s hands, his skin hot against Nick’s.

And Nick’s not planning on letting him leave until they’re done with _dinner_.

It’s definitely not the worst thing Harry’s ever come up with.

 

-

 

About a month before Nick and Harry hit the mark of having known each other for a whole year, Nick comes home from one of the last nights of his show with Sara to find all the lights in his house turned off and an eerie blue light shining from the dining room, near the French doors of the back deck that opens up to his little garden patch. There’s something bright reflected there in the doors but Nick can’t place what it is. 

“Hello?” Nick calls out into the dark, dropping his house keys at the bowl by the door, looking around to see if he can spot someone’s shoes or coat draped over the couch in his living room. All he hears is the pattering of Puppy’s steps as she comes out of his bedroom, probably kipping on his bed because he forgot to close the damn door again. She runs round his legs and he bends over to pick her up and give her a soft kiss on the ears. 

There’s no sign of anyone around, but something feels different. Strange, because Nick wasn’t expecting anyone tonight, nor for anyone to drop something off while he wasn’t home. He puts his work bag down and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it on the couch and walking into the dining room, the blue light shining ever brighter the closer he gets, Puppy wiggling around so he can put her down.  There, propped up against the antique bureau he’d picked up on a Camden excursion, is a neon piece of art, installed and lit up. Shining bright and blue in his dining room. 

Nick stares and promptly lowers Puppy to the floor, standing up and leans against the dining table, looking at the neon blue cursive _Enjoy_ sign that he knows is a very, very expensive one-of-a-kind piece, by a Liverpool-based artist whose opening he went to months ago and whom he promised he would buy a piece from. 

Nick only told one or two people about attending that opening. 

He didn’t even go with anyone, he went by himself because Henry bailed after getting held up by a project at work. He’d gone for twenty minutes at most, popping in to say hello to the artist who he’d met on a few occasions at other openings.

Nick has a rule.

He doesn’t cry unless someone’s in the A&E (himself included), if a pet or loved one passes, or if there’s a really sad Meryl Streep film on the telly and no one is around to see him shed a few tears.

He doesn’t care if it makes him appear heartless, if his friends call him a robot because he’s always got such a handle on his emotions. He works in media, he has to be put together and able to put on a strong, positive face no matter what the situation. 

Nick never cries for nothing, but when he sees that sign in his dining room, he pulls out a chair, sits down heavily and faces the piece, observing it very quietly and feeling somehow very sad and very happy all at once. He sits there, alone in the dark of his dining room, blue light shining bright all around him, feeling paralyzed by an onslaught of emotion. 

His dog lets out a worried whine and stands on her hind legs so her tiny paws rest on Nick’s knees.

Nick allows a dry sob to escape from his mouth. He immediately covers his lips and lets himself put his head in his hands. He knows his eyes must be rimmed red. They’re wet at the corners and Nick rubs at them with the sleeves of his borrowed shirt.

Puppy whines long and low, giving up and curling around Nick’s feet. Her cold nose nudges up against his toes.

Nick has never felt this way about anything. 

A piece of art has never affected Nick with such a strong, vehement reaction. There was one time where he was in Paris by himself at 24 and he saw the Monet panorama room at the l’Orangerie. That made him feel _something_. Other than that, however, Nick has never experienced a moment where we wanted to sob because he stood in front of a piece and it made him feel Too Fucking Much. Even bloody Monet himself couldn’t make him feel this much.

Nick has never felt this way about _anyone_.

About a certain someone who he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, would be the only person who would have picked up on this one thing Nick might have mentioned in passing. Who would have thought that it mattered enough to Nick that this piece of art sit in his home, right here, in a place where he would see it every morning when he got up to have his tea.

Nick still has his hands on his face but he keeps peeking out to look at the sign. 

Only then, when he stands up and inches towards the piece does he realize that there’s a note on the bureau, next to the sign and scrawled in a sharp spiky script that’s awfully familiar.

> “ _Sorry I broke into your house but I promise it was with good reason. I know you hate surprises but I wanted to leave a private surprise just for you before I had to leave for Holmes Chapel. I know how much you wanted something by this artist so I found out which gallery he’s with to get you something for your birthday._
> 
> _This was my favorite piece from their catalogue of his show but they’d already sent it back to the artist in Liverpool. I insisted on buying it and so the gallerist had to make special arrangements to ship it to my place. Didn’t think it would be such an adventure to buy from a gallery but apparently art is a big deal or something?_  
> 
> _There’s a certificate of authenticity in an envelope in your bedside drawer that you probably shouldn’t lose because it confirms that this is a one of a kind piece, the last one in the artist’s collection from this particular series._
> 
> _Nobody I know loves life and enjoys it to the fullest the way you do. May you live to be 128 and enjoy every coming day, you deserve all the beautiful neon signs tenfold._
> 
> _I hope you like it just as much as I do._  
> 
> _Happy birthday, Grim. You’re my favorite person._
> 
> _All my love xx H_ ” 

Nick wipes his eyes gently after reading the note, and wills his heart to keep from bursting out of his chest.

He goes over to his bag to get his phone. Snaps a picture of the sign and immediately sends it to Aimee. 

 _“Came home from work to find this sat in my dining room,” he_ carefully types out, sniffling and trying to contain his emotions. 

 _“He bought me an original art piece and he’s not even my boyfriend,”_ he writes, then adds: _“Even if I had a boyfriend they wouldn’t think to get me one of these.”_

 _“Aimee. I’m so fucked.”_  

The dots on his iMessage show up as Aimee starts typing back immediately. 

 _“Oh Nick._ _It’s beautiful_.”

“ _So. F u c k e d,_ ” he types out the letters laboriously, and heads out of the dining room so he can head to bed. 

He resolves to lay there and feel one hundred conflicting emotions in his bed rather than while standing around in the dark in the middle of his house just past 1 AM.

Puppy trawls up after him and he makes a mental note to take her out into the garden before he falls asleep.

 _“If you want me to come over babe just let me know, I’m still working on drafting some sketches but I was planning on being up all night anyway,”_ Aimee says. 

“ _It’s alright. I’m going to sleep for 15 years and won’t think about it til the morning. Thx tho. Love u,_ ” Nick types, sitting in bed. But before he can get comfortable there, he decides on a drink. Of all the times he’s deserved a double vodka, this is the time he deserves it most.

Once he’s got his drink in hand, he goes back into the dining room despite himself, as if to check if the sign is still there or if he imagined the whole thing.

It rests right in its spot, on his bureau, shining blue and ever so bright.

Nick sighs and heads over to the chest of drawers, opens the top one and digs around for his emergency pack of Marlboro Lights that he keeps tucked away for times when he’s particularly drunk off his face and needing a fag. Or moments like this, when no one’s around and he doesn’t know how to deal with twenty-five things running through his mind.

He finds the smokes, opens up his big white French doors so the cool night air rushes into his dining room. Puppy excitedly runs out into his garden, and Nick stands there, lighting up a cigarette at an ungodly hour, his drink forgotten on the bureau, sitting in front of the sign and gathering condensation.

He knows he’s in for a long night.

 

-

 

Summer flies past in a blur and it’s almost as if Harry has taken permanent residence in Nick’s flat. When he gets back from visiting his parents, he comes straight to Nick’s and never unpacks his bag, but his clothes do suspiciously start appearing in Nick’s laundry basket and folded up with his own in his closet. Some nights before work Nick will be looking for a specific black shirt and he’ll turn up to the studio only to realize the one he’s wearing is too tight in the shoulders and actually belongs to Harry. 

Harry always wants to take him to dinner before work or meet up for drinks afterward, and at some point Nick says fuck it and invites him in to come sit in the studio too, which might be the silliest decision he ever came up with because Harry is bloody _distracting_. It’s all a laugh though, and the production crew loves having Harry around because it means they have someone to boss around to get them tea or coffee or pop out to the shops so they can all eat dinner together in the studio. Harry takes it all in stride, bless him. 

Nick finds that Harry’s incredibly easy to please and Nick can tell how much he loves being invited into Nick’s life like this. He’s always up for the next thing even though they have no set schedule, spending most days with Nick just flitting from one place to another. 

One morning they wake up after spending the whole night in front of the telly drinking and making out, which is starting to feel like a recurring theme in Nick’s life, and Harry makes him a huge fry up, almost half naked in his kitchen, his pants hanging low on his hips. They eat breakfast in Nick’s dining room with the summer breeze coming in through the French doors, and afterwards they go for a stroll in Primrose Hill and spend the entire afternoon messing about with Nick and his mates.

It’s the most relaxed Nick’s felt in weeks, and he finds himself getting used to it, to rolling over in the middle of the night and being able to cuddle up to Harry’s warm skin, to waking up in the morning and exchanging blowjobs and sleepy kisses. It’s all a bit _too easy_ to lose himself in.

He just goes with it.

 

-

 

In October Nick starts _Breakfast_ and despite all the prep he’d been trying to do to flip his schedule around so he doesn’t feel like a complete zombie waking up at 5:30 AM for work, nothing seems to work other than flat-out refusing to do anything that might involve leaving his house past 7 PM on a weeknight. It’s a bit of a mood-killer for Nick who’s naturally a social butterfly and loves his night-life, but it’s the only way he can wake up early and be able to concentrate and function at work, where his schedule is more tightly packed than ever.

Doing _Breakfast_ means Nick is interviewing loads of celebs constantly, planning silly games they can play with callers, and just being involved with a lot more PR and media than Nick thought he was used to. The day Harry comes in to do _Team Ladz_ as part of promo for _Breakfast_ is planned right down to the minute, if not second, but him and Harry still manage to have fun with it. Harry’s looking pleased that he’s actually allowed to be on air for once, which Nick was really strict about when he used to come in during him and Annie’s night show.

Afterwards they head out of the studio together and go for lunch in Notting Hill at an American diner, stuffing their faces with greasy chips and burgers. Nick takes so many sips off of Harry’s strawberry milkshake that he just ends up stealing it for himself, and when Harry sulkily pouts about it Nick promises him he’ll take him somewhere else for dessert.

When Aimee asks Nick if him and Harry are officially dating yet Nick responds with a resounding “ _No,_ ” but honestly, the lines are starting to become a little blurred even for him.

She doesn’t bring it up again.

 

-

 

Somehow, Nick manages to make it through December without bringing up Harry and Taylor once, even though he’s dying to know the dirty deets. Nick and Harry spend Christmas together again but New Years apart, with Harry in New York and Nick jetting off to Puerto Rico with Aimee, Pixie, and Henry.

Nick sends Harry loads of holiday selfies of his face getting decidedly more orange and with sunburns on his cheeks rather than an actual tan. He slathers on the sunscreen but it’s still not enough, and the cool water on his tender skin feels like a blessing every time he jumps into the beach for a swim. Nick’s friends manage to arrange a whole day spent on a yacht, and Nick has never felt more fabulous than when he was able to lay on a towel on a boat and sip pina coladas under the Puerto Rican sun, texting Harry a picture of his fruity drink, which has been appropriately served in a coconut, “ _who’s the popstar now?_ ”

Harry responds with a picture of his own tropical drink and a text that says, “ _both of us? :)_ ” and Nick groans because apparently he can never win.

Nick texts, “ _When are you going to be in London again so I can see your face again lovely Hazza?_ ” and when they realize they’re going to be arriving only a few days apart, they set up a date to go get sushi at Selfridges again.

Nick may be on a yacht in America on holiday but suddenly, he can’t wait to be back in London again.

 

-

 

When Nick walks into Yo! Sushi and sees Harry already at a table, engrossed in his phone and a glass of red sat in front of him, he can’t help but smile. Harry sees him approach and his face lights up like it’s bloody Christmas, and he stands to give him a massive hug. Nick gives him an air-kiss that makes him wish he could turn his head and catch Harry’s lips in his own. He can’t help but murmur the sentiment into Harry’s ear before he pulls back and goes to sit across from him at the table, watching as Harry flushes pink and nods, no doubt feeling the same. 

They catch up over sushi rolls and a few too many glasses of wine, and Harry tells Nick about how he ended up on Richard Branson’s island towards the end of his holidays, and Nick tells him he’s personally offended that he didn’t join Nick and his mates at Puerto Rico instead.

“I can’t turn down Richard Branson, Nick!” Harry says and Nick scoffs.

“You bloody well can if it means you’d be doing it to see me instead,” he says. 

Harry grins. “I’m seeing you now,” he says, reaching out to clasp Nick’s hand in his own briefly. 

“Just think of all the sex you could’ve had with me on a yacht, Harold,” Nick says, his voice low and a smirk on his lips as he raises his glass of wine for a sip.

Harry’s jaw drops, and then he starts laughing and can’t seem to stop.

Nick licks his lips and raises his eyebrows, briefly sucking the tip of his finger into his mouth and making it look dirty. “I’m just saying,” he continues. 

“ _Fine_ , I bloody get it, Nick. You gonna let me make it up to you then?” Harry asks, leaning on the table with both elbows and peering at Nick with his big eyes. Nick notices the way Harry’s gaze drops to his mouth, probably stained red from the wine, and back up to his face.

“You’re gonna have to convince me,” Nick says, looking at Harry from under his lashes. 

Harry just smiles and sits back. He doesn’t say anything but he does wave over for the check, and it’s enough of an indication that Nick knows that’s that.

 

-

 

They end up back at Harry’s place, a big house he bought not far from Primrose Hill, a move that had made Nick’s eyebrows go up when Nick had heard about it. By now he’s used to the casual way Harry’s picking up new properties but it still makes him wonder what it’s like to be almost nineteen and able to drop a couple million pounds on a bloody _house_. 

Harry pulls him right in the front door and mumbles against Nick’s mouth, “I’ll give you the grand tour later,” and Nick has nothing to say to that because he’s too busy trying not to rip Harry’s clothes off. 

Nick finds himself in Harry’s king size bed, his knees pushed up to his chest as Harry fingers him open.

It’s been more than a month since they’d been able to do this, and Nick gasps at the feeling of Harry’s fingers stretching him open. Harry has a concentrated look on his face, but his pace is quick and a little jerky because they’re both feeling so desperate. Nick has his fist wrapped around his own cock, teasing himself, his hand slick with lube. The sound is filthy, Harry’s fingers fucking into in his arse and Nick grunting loud because it’s been an age since he got off and he’s not going to last long.

When Harry’s fingers bump up against his prostate Nick’s cock jerks and he accidently comes all over himself, groaning as his hole tightens around Harry’s fingers.

Harry keeps fingering him even after he’s come but Nick grips at his wrist and forces him to slow down, feeling too oversensitive to go straight into getting fucked. “ _Wait,_ ” Nick gasps, and Harry gently pulls out his fingers and then leans over Nick to snog him wet, seemingly not giving a care in the world for the mess of come on Nick’s belly. 

Nick pulls him close, a hand in Harry’s curls, and Harry’s cock is hard against his thigh, Harry’s hips thrusting of their own accord. Harry tucks his head into Nick’s shoulder and holds on to his hips, his fingers tight enough against Nick’s skin that it feels like it’s going to bruise. 

“Hey, slow down,” Nick manages to stutter out. “Turn over, I can suck you off for a bit ‘til I’m ready again.”

Harry pauses the movement of his hips and is just nodding his head wildly, almost mouthing at Nick’s nipples where his head has come to rest on Nick’s chest. Nick pushes at his shoulders and gets Harry on his back, leaning over him and putting his mouth on the head of Harry’s cock. One of Nick’s hands drifts up and splays over the large butterfly on Harry’s chest, his fingertips brushing over Harry’s nipples. He tugs at Harry’s cock as he tongues over him, alternating between taking him deep and jerking at his length. At some point Harry’s fingers tangle in Nick’s hair and he makes him stop so they can make out sloppily, Nick feeling his cock starting to fill out again. 

Harry’s got his hands on Nick’s arse and it’s so good, the way Nick feels like they can’t get close enough, Harry touching him everywhere and pulling him closer, as Nick lays himself more heavily over Harry. Harry’s knees come up and Nick sits up and leans against him, their hips settled together. Nick manages to roll a condom onto Harry’s cock and get his length wet with lube, and then he rearranges himself so he’s fitting the head of Harry’s cock between his arsecheeks, sinking down and feeling Harry’s cock stretching him and getting him _full_.

Nick feels like all the air in the room’s been sucked out, and he tips his head back and gasps, Harry’s hands clutching at his hips tightly. “ _Fuck, you feel so good, you look amazing, Nick, just like this,_ ” Harry’s mumbling, clearly trying his best to stay still and refrain from thrusting up into Nick. Nick groans loud and he needs a moment before he can lift himself up and let Harry start fucking into him. He leans over and settles his palms over Harry’s chest, the movement changing the angle and making them both gasp.

Harry lets Nick control the pace, as Nick shudders and begins to move his hips, Harry’s cock staying deep inside as he thrusts jerkily up into Nick. They find a rhythm that works for them, Nick lifting up and letting Harry’s cock fuck into him more heavily, the head of his cock catching on Nick’s prostate when he leans back up against Harry’s knees. After a while, Nick’s thighs strain and the feeling of Harry’s cock hitting him deep on every thrust is too intense, so he tells Harry they need to switch again, flopping over him heavily and letting Harry’s cock slip out. He groans at that, and Harry’s quick to get Nick on his back again.

“Nick, I’m too close,” Harry says, as he spreads Nick’s legs open and the head of his cock finds Nick’s hole again.

“S’okay, Harry, you can fuck me as hard as you like,” Nick says, and now that he’s on his back he can fit his hands under his knees and let Harry fuck him open, his legs spread wide. Harry’s jaw drops as he begins to fuck Nick _deep_ and good, their thighs slapping against each other. Nick feels incredibly full and he’s going to be so sore tomorrow, and he feels it when Harry starts to come, it makes his hole tighten around Harry and he’s shuddering because he still feels so sensitive. 

Harry pulls out and strips off the condom, then settles back between Nick’s thighs and thrusts three fingers deep into Nick’s hole, catching him by surprise, his fingertips nudging up against Nick’s spot. Harry gets him off with his fingers inside him and a hand jerking at Nick’s cock, and when he comes it hits him so intensely that Nick’s practically seeing stars, gasping loud and shivering. Harry leans over him so he can press a kiss to his mouth and he can’t even kiss back, he’s just panting against Harry’s mouth as he comes down from his mindblowing orgasm. He’s just about to slip off into sleep when he realizes Harry’s pulled off of him and has gotten off the bed no doubt to find a flannel.

Nick’s already asleep by the time Harry’s back and has wiped over the sticky mess on his belly. Harry gets them both under the sheets properly and cuddles up across from where Nick’s on his side, pressing a kiss to his mouth and falling asleep with their noses almost touching.

 

-

 

When Nick wakes in the morning, his head is pounding and he finds himself draped over Harry’s back, his body soft and sleep-warm under Nick.

It’s a tad chilly in the room and Nick must have gravitated closer towards Harry and his body heat in the middle of the night. Nick tugs up the sheets and duvet so he and Harry are cocooned in the warmth, and the movement nudges Nick’s morning wood right in between Harry’s snug arse-cheeks. Nick stills, blinking sleepily and tries to stop his hips thrusting of their own accord. He’s not quite sure Harry would appreciate waking up to a hard cock prodding at his arse, but _God_ , Nick’s cock is getting stiffer just at the thought of it.

He finds himself laying more heavily over Harry, nuzzling into the juncture of his neck, Nick’s hands wandering up Harry’s sides and up to his shoulder. Nick is pressing kisses against Harry’s neck, nosing into his hair where Harry’s gone a little sweaty and smells sleepy and wonderful. He licks at the soft tender skin of Harry’s neck, and Harry’s body is so warm under Nick’s, Nick still in that hazy feeling of being caught between a dream and waking up.

Harry _feels_ like a dream right here where they’re burrowed into the sheets, and he snuffles, body shifting and hand coming up to rub at his nose in his sleep. Nick takes the movement as an opening, giving light nips to the skin of Harry’s shoulder, whispering with his scratchy morning voice, “ _Harry, Haz, love, wake up._ ” 

Harry makes a sleepy “ _Mmmh_ ,” sound, and he shifts, tossing his head a bit on the pillow, no doubt trying to find a more cosy spot to nestle into.

“S’sleep time, Nick,” Harry grumbles. His hand finding Nick’s in between the sheets and pulling him close, so that Nick’s hand is covering Harry’s own.

“ _No, no,_ wake up, Hazza love,” Nick whispers into Harry’s ear, his lips traveling over Harry’s cheek, down his neck, nipping and kissing at his skin wetly.

He wants to get his mouth all over Harry to taste him, his cock is thick and hard now and Harry must feel him but he’s still drifting in and out of sleep, his hips making the most minute movements against Nick, probably unconsciously. Nick’s mind is running, and he’s thinking about pulling Harry’s hips up and fucking into the tight space of Harry’s thighs with some lube, he’s thinking about his fingers drifting down Harry’s crack and rubbing at his hole, getting it wet with his fingers or even shuffling all the way down so he could feel Harry open up around his tongue.

Nick groans, and his fingers are drifting down Harry’s back. He lets his touch linger over Harry’s arse and crack, but before he can go any further Nick takes his cock in his fist, the head getting wet with precome. Nick moves his hips away from Harry’s an inch, so that the only place they’re touching is up by Harry’s shoulder, where Nick’s hand is still covering Harry’s. He fucks into his own fist and it’s hard to coordinate, but Nick thinks he could jerk off just like this, feeling hot and worked up enough that he wouldn’t need more than a few tugs and his own filthy fantasies to push him over the edge. 

“Nick?” Harry asks, and his voice is clearer, sounds more awake. Nick can’t help but gasp, holding his cock tight in his fist, not quite able to make words.

“ _Haz_ ,” Nick chokes out. 

Harry’s moved his hand from where they were touching and he tries to turn around, but he’s clearly trapped between the tight space of Nick’s body and where he’s laying, down on his belly on the sheets.

Harry’s back ripples, his arse flexing, and Nick has to close his eyes because the whole thing is too tempting, his cock blurting out more precome at the thought of coming all over Harry’s thighs and arse. 

Nick gasps, and manages to pull himself together, letting go of his cock and curling up so he’s no longer hunched over Harry’s body. Giving Harry room to move and settling next to him on his side, and they’re in the same position they’d fallen asleep in now, Nick’s body curled up and facing Harry.

Nick is breathing hard and panting a bit, from the effort of holding off from coming. He squeezes his eyes shut because Harry’s looking at him, with a sleepy, glazed look in his eyes and it’s too much. He knows Harry’s watching as Nick takes himself in his fist again, holding his cock where it’s wet enough to give himself a few slick jerks.

“Look at me, Nick,” Harry says, and his voice is sleep rough but commanding nonetheless.

Nick’s eyes fly open and he groans, seeing Harry’s dark eyes and his mouth wet where he’s clearly just licked his lips. The look on Harry’s face is hungry.

Harry’s hand comes up and drifts between them, like he wants to touch Nick but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Nick’s fingers are tight around his cock and he’s holding his thumb against his slit, stroking at the wetness there, teasing himself and making it look good for Harry. Harry’s eyes flick down to watch and he’s not missing a thing. He seems to make up his mind, shifting a bit closer towards Nick, his hand reaching up to settle on the curve of Nick’s jaw, his thumb resting on Nick’s bottom lip. 

The unexpected touch is all it takes for Nick to come all over his fist, his mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. He covers his cock so it doesn’t make a mess up his belly, and Harry’s fingers are digging into Nick’s hair now, tugging there slightly as he watches Nick come undone. 

Nick’s shivering a bit in the aftershocks and he lets himself get on his back, letting go of his cock where it’s softening in the loose grip of his fist. He wipes his hand on the sheets and _God,_ what the fuck was that. Nick’s a bit stunned at the whole thing.

Harry’s hand has trailed down to Nick’s chest, his fingertips just brushing over Nick’s nipples.

“Nick,” Harry says, and Nick’s still coming down from his orgasm, but he reaches up to lightly grip at Harry’s wrist on his chest, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Were you about to fuck me?” Harry asks, his voice low. Nick screws his eyes shut and covers his face with his other arm, still sweaty and flushed, unsure of what to say.

“I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t? You didn’t want to?” Harry presses on, and Nick doesn’t know what he’s trying to get at. 

Nick sighs and pushes his hair back from his face, turning to look at Harry, their eyes meeting.

“Yeah, Harry, of course I bloody want to, but we’re not quite there yet? Are we? You’re not there yet,” Nick says, and realizes just how hungover he’s feeling to be able to carry this conversation with any semblance of tact. 

Harry is silent, looking at Nick with a face that’s one part confusion, one part hurt. 

“But you stopped,” Harry says.

Nick nods, his eyebrows furrowed. “Harry,” he starts, and then pauses, not quite knowing how to continue. “It’s a nice thought, but I wouldn’t try to fuck you if you didn’t tell me you were okay with it first, alright? I wouldn’t fuck you while you were half asleep and not able to tell me if it’s okay. I’m not an arsehole.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, drawing out the word. He looks a bit relieved at Nick’s admission.

“Like I said, we’re not quite there yet, and it’s up to you if you ever want to go there. This isn’t about what my cock wants first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Nick says carefully.

Harry’s nodding.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

 _God_ , Nick thinks, _he wouldn’t_ , is the thing, and he doesn’t know how much clearer he can make that to Harry. He wants Harry to trust him but he’s gone and fucked it all up, making Harry think he’d cross the boundaries he’s so clearly set up for Nick. Nick’s been so careful, ignoring his own feelings in favor for Harry’s, and he must be looking upset and pained because before he knows it Harry is shuffling closer, his body curling around Nick.

Harry kisses at his shoulder and murmurs, “It’s alright, Nick, I believe you.” 

They’re pressed up close together now and Nick turns his head to catch Harry’s lips in a light kiss.

“I like you way too much to ever do that to you, Harry,” Nick mumbles.

“I like you too,” Harry whispers, his fingers lacing together with Nick’s over Nick’s chest. “And I’m glad it’s you, Nick. I’m really fucking glad it’s you and I know you’d never do anything to upset me.”

Nick nods. 

Harry kisses him gently again and Nick sighs. They’re quiet after that, Harry’s breathing going deep as he drops off to sleep again, and Nick lays there for a while, guilt setting in and mentally kicking himself over what just happened before he’s able to fall back asleep. 

The only thing that calms him is that Harry’s right here next to him and that he didn’t run off after their whole exchange just now. That Harry _does_ trust him and actually likes him back, even though Nick’s clearly not good enough for Harry.

Nick turns around, wraps Harry’s arm around him so Nick’s the little spoon and he’s cuddled in his embrace. He presses a kiss to Harry’s bicep and falls asleep like that, tucked in Harry’s arms.

 

-

 

For Harry’s nineteenth Nick plans a huge party at his flat and hires a stripper. All of Nick’s mates get such a kick out of it but Harry looks flushed and embarrassed with a girl in his lap, not quite knowing whether he’s allowed to settle his hands on her hips during a lapdance.

The stripper is sweet to him and has clearly done this too many times to mind where Harry’s hands end up, and although Nick’s paid for the deal he’s pretty sure Harry sneakily tipped her a couple hundred quid because he’s probably worried about whether she’s having a good time or something. Nick invites the girl to linger around the party when she’s done, and Nick thinks she only stays for Harry but he doesn’t mention it. 

Then the Brit’s are lined up and Nick and Harry have a _blast_ , staying up all night after the event and then Harry stumbling into the studio with him in the morning, in the same clothes he’d worn to the awards ceremony. It’s unplanned but Harry ends up co-hosting _Breakfast_ and instead of Nick getting fired for being completely irresponsible, everyone seems to _love_ it. Both at work and in the tabloids the next day, him and Harry’s faces splashed together making a good story.

Harry leaves for tour soon after that and Nick has to deal with a Harry-drought. It’s ages until Nick’s able to see Harry again, but his phone is littered with texts and selfies from Harry. Snapchat has turned into him and Harry’s personal sexting app, the feature of the photos not staying on their phones being perfect for how careful they both have to be when it comes to exchange naughty pictures. 

Harry’s film premieres at the end of August and Nick can’t make it to the red carpet because of another work commitment. They manage to spend a night together before Harry jets off to LA again, and Nick follows the rumors online about Harry pulling loads of American girls while he’s in New York and LA.

It’s something Nick’s used to when it comes to Harry, and he’d tried doing the same, pulling a lad on the odd nights him and his friends make it out to a club, but it’s just not satisfying enough for Nick. Nick always finds himself putting his hands in their hair and wishing it was Harry’s curls, or he’d be making out with a lad and they’d be too pushy and aggressive about it, when Nick’s gotten used to the soft gentle way Harry always kissed him.

Nick never manages to take anyone home because they’re just _not Harry_ , and he feels a bit fucked off about it until he comes to terms with the fact that his brain’s decided it’s just got to be Harry for him, and he should probably stop trying to find a replacement for him when he’s not in London. 

Harry calls Nick one night, his voice buzzing because he’s just put a downpayment for a place in LA--not just a place, a _mansion_ \--and he tells Nick about how massive it is and that there’s a pool that he can use year-round. He tells Nick that he _has_ to visit Harry in LA the next time he’s on holidays. Nick plays along with it over the phone, but the whole thing has him feeling a bit down in reality. Why would Harry need a pool year-round when he could just come and use the indoor pool at his place in London? Nick doesn’t say that to Harry but he’s thinking it, and he just congratulates Harry on his new place and asks him when he’s going to be back in London. 

It’s like that for weeks on end until Harry’s back because the band is dropping _Midnight Memories_ , and Nick gets Harry in his bed for a couple more nights before he’s disappeared again.

Then it’s Christmas and Harry’s in New York, with his face splashed all over the London tabloids, photos of him coming out of Kendall Jenner’s hotel and driving Kendall’s car. It becomes Showbot’s favorite subject for a few episodes, and if Nick rolls his eyes every time there’s another teasing Harry-related question lined up on Showquizness, no one has to know. It is radio after all. 

Nick gets texts from Harry about that, “ _Why doesn’t Showbot like me?_ ” lined with a string of crying-face emojis. It just makes Nick snort and respond, “ _Love, Showbot doesn’t like anyone._ ” 

Nick never brings up Kendall in their texts because it’s none of his business, but he watches the whole thing play out in the media just like everyone else, a curious spectator wondering if the whole thing is a PR stunt or if Harry and Kendall are actually shagging. Nick imagines they are, because who could resist the possibility of Harry Styles in their pants, honestly. Kendall should be so lucky.

Nick rings in the new year with his mates, getting a big smacking wet kiss from Aimee when the clock strikes midnight. He tries to call Harry but it goes to voicemail and Nick doesn’t bother leaving a message. He just sends Harry loads of emojis and hopes they convey that Nick’s thinking of him, wishing he was around so he could be kissing him instead.

Turns out Nick won’t even get the chance to until February.

 

-

 

 _"Meet me at the loo in 5?"_ Nick’s phone vibrates in his hand. Nick’s not sure what Harry’s doing, isn’t his band nominated for one of the upcoming Brit awards? He can’t help grinning though. " _What tricks do you have up your sleeve now H?"_ he types back.

 _"Just come_ ," Harry’s text says.

 _"COME_ ," followed by many winky face emojis and an aubergine. 

Then Harry sends him a selfie, except it’s the bottom half of his face, tongue sticking out and a bit of his ugly top unbuttoned with the tips of his swallows peeking out.

 _"Disgusting_ ," Nick texts. He’s already half-hard.

He pushes out of his seat and heads backstage towards where the bathrooms are, adjacent to the stage. Pushes through sound-techs and PA’s with clipboards all rushing around trying to keep the show on schedule.

When he reaches the loo, someones just pushing out of the door and Nick shoulders his way in. Clears his throat and gives a sharp knock on the wood. It looks blessedly empty inside but he doesn’t want to take any chances.

“You in here?” Nick calls out.

“Yeah, second stall.” Harry responds.

Nick heads over and Harry lets him in.

Harry’s a sight. His cheeks are flushed red, trousers undone and he’s palming himself over his briefs.

“You’re such a menace,” Nick says, crowding Harry against the wall and knocking Harry’s hand away so he can cup his dick. Harry groans loudly.

Nick presses the palm of his other hand over Harry’s mouth, “Shut it, Harry, someone’s going to hear you.”

Harry grips Nick’s wrist to tug it down, poking his tongue out to lick between Nick’s fingers and hollow his lips around Nick’s index finger. 

“Let them,” Harry says around Nick’s fingers, eyes shining wildly.

“Christ,” Nick moans, shoving two more of his fingers in Harry’s mouth and watching his lips stretch obscenely around them, wet and spit-slick. 

“You want these in you?” Nick asks and Harry shakes his head, tips it back so Nick’s fingers are resting on his bottom lip.

“Wanna suck you. Want you to fuck my throat.” Harry says, breathing hard. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Nick says, scandalized. Harry just grins and pushes at Nick a bit so he can sink down onto his knees, trapped in the space between the wall and Nick. Nick props an arm on the wall and slides his fingers into Harry’s curls.

Harry makes quick work of Nick’s belt and trousers and tugs his dick out of his pants, jerks the hard length of him for a bit and wraps his red lips around Nick’s cock, taking him deep, quickly pulling off and sucking at the head, tongue on Nick’s slit. He’s jerking Nick’s dick over and over with his fist. 

“S’good, right?” Harry says, pulling off briefly, looking up at Nick for approval. His mouth is so wet.

Nick is going to _die_.

“So good, Harry,” Nick chokes out. 

Harry looks smug and goes down on him deep again, bobbing his head. Nick winds his fingers into Harry’s curls, thrusting into his mouth. His dick hits the back of Harry’s throat, Harry’s eyes watering, and he’s nearly gagging with his mouth so full of Nick’s cock. He’s got the rhythm down now, his tongue wet on Nick’s dick.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.” Harry’s eyes flutter shut, preening slightly under the attention.

The door bangs open then and two lads stumble in, laughing loudly. Harry’s eyes fly open and Nick pulls back, pushing at Harry until there’s a soft thunk of his head hitting the wall. Nick fists his dick and holds his breath. Harry’s gone completely still, looking up at Nick and his mouth still open wide. Nick didn’t notice but Harry’s had his hand shoved in his pants the whole time, his knees spread. Nick can see him slowly starting to work over himself again, the head of his dick peeking out of his fist. Nick shudders, waiting for the lads to finish and get the fuck out. 

Harry looks absolutely wrecked, and Nick is shaking his head, his dick starting to soften in his hand. Nick is _freaking out_ at the prospect of them getting caught.

Harry doesn’t appear to have a care in the world, he’s proper getting off on it, lashes fluttering wildly and his fist pumping over his dick even faster. _I’m gonna come_ , he mouths at Nick silently. The lads are washing their hands now and chattering mindlessly, and Nick wonders if they’ve noticed anything while his heart pounds.

Harry comes over his fist with a soft gasp, spurting ropes of come all over his hand and dripping on the floor between his legs. The door slams shut and they’re alone again. 

“What the _bloody hell_ was that, Harry?” Nick whispers, and he's angry now, tucking his cock back into his pants, doing up the zip and trying to get his belt back in shape.

Harry’s curls are all sweaty around his temples and he sits there uselessly, looking a bit guiltily at Nick. Nick turns around and grabs a handful of loo roll and shoves it at him, because _somebody_ needs to be in charge in this situation.

“Clean yourself up, we need to get out of here,” Nick says and exits the stall. He washes his hands and watches over his shoulder as Harry stumbles out. Nick straightens up and dries off, making sure his blazer isn’t crinkled and his quiff isn’t looking too floppy. Harry’s slowly following his movements and Nick huffs.

“Come here, you complete nutter,” Nick coos, and faces Harry to help him do up the buttons on his shirt. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles quietly, and he’s looking down at the floor, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.

Nick sighs. “This isn’t a game, Harry. You need to be more careful ‘round strangers, you can’t just trust other people to have their shit together for you.” Nick says, and now he’s brushing lint off Harry’s shoulders nervously and searching his eyes.

Harry nods, biting at his lip.

“You need to get out there, pretty sure there are people waiting for you,” Nick says patting Harry’s collar affectionately.

“‘Kay,” Harry says, his voice hoarse, and he surges forward place a soft kiss on Nick’s cheek.

“See you later, Grim,” he says with a small wave, heading over to the door. As soon as he opens it Nick hears a woman shout, “Harry Styles! You’re needed on stage, please follow me. Where have you been? Everyone’s looking for you.”

Nick rolls his eyes and turns to face his reflection in the mirror again.

“That boy is absolutely insane,” Nick says to himself, his voice echoing off the bathroom walls. He takes a deep breath and tugs his phone out to text Aimee, needing a moment before he has to head back out and face the chaos. 

 

-

 

Nick finds it hard to keep up with Harry after the Brits incident, because Harry’s busy writing for the new album and jetting around the UK and LA and everywhere else. By now, Harry’s shown Nick the photos of his LA place and it does look grand and amazing, but Nick holds a bit of resentment towards Harry’s LA hideout. Any time Harry is spending in that house with Jeff or his LA mates means he’s not in London with Nick, and yeah, Nick is definitely bloody jealous about it.

Even Alexa manages to get down to California, and her and Harry send him selfies of them tanning by the pool and it’s like _torture_ for Nick, who has to keep waking up and dealing with the miserable London rain at 5:30 AM every morning just to make it down to the BBC studios.

It feels like Harry’s further away than ever, and even his texts and sexy Snapchats are less frequent. Nick and him used to talk on the phone so often, mumbling about how much they missed each other, but now Nick feels like if he texts Harry that he misses him like he wants to then it’d come off looking too needy and vulnerable. Harry is off having the time of his life under the California sun and he’s not waiting around to receive a pathetic text from Nick.

It’s disconcerting, but Nick focuses on work and pushes it from his mind. He’ll see Harry when he sees him, and moping about in his absence is only going to make Nick feel more miserable. 

He really tries not to think about it.

 

-

 

Harry shows up to Nick’s World Cup party wearing a soft brown flannel that Nick resolves to steal as soon as he’s not looking. He lumbers into Nick’s flat where everyone’s seated round the telly in Nick’s living room.

“ _Hiiii_ everyone. I’ve just been to the shops to get a bottle of red but then figured beer would be more fitting for tonight,” Harry says, lifting up a six-pack of Stella. 

“You’re a damn angel, Harry Styles. Look at you being all appropriate,” Nick coos. He’s squeezed between Aimee and Daisy on the couch, but he stands up to give Harry a kiss on the cheek and a massive hug because he hasn’t seen Harry in weeks.

“Glad you made it though, honestly the male to female ratio for a lads night is looking well embarrassing,” Nick says, and thrusts his own cup of the weird punch him and Pixie brewed up earlier into Harry’s hand. 

“Here, this is the fruitiest thing we have here, and should get you drunk in moments. Drink all of it,” Nick whispers to Harry conspiratorily and Harry laughs.

“Cheers, Grimmy.” 

Harry immediately takes a large gulp and raises an eyebrow at Nick. He situates himself on the armchair of the sofa next to Daisy, nudging at her a bit and leaning down to press a kiss hello to her cheek as well. Daisy flashes her brilliant smile at Harry, tucking her long brown hair behind her ear.

Nick can’t help but notice that Harry’s sat at a position where he’s got a perfect view of Daisy’s boobs down her tight strappy white top, Harry’s eyes lingering a moment too long. Nick rolls his eyes and grabs a Stella from the pack he brought before settling back down between the girls, wrapping his arm around Daisy and settling his head on her warm skin of her almost-bare shoulder. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have expected you to host a party for the laddiest event of all time, Nick,” Harry says, his voice rumbling from somewhere above them.

“What are you on about? You know I love any opportunity to get twatted with my mates. Also, I’ve been well on the wagon with all this footie going on this past month. I’m a proper Germany fan tonight.” Nick says. “ _Ayyyyy_ , lads, lads, lads, lads!” He shouts, pumping his fist obnoxiously. 

Harry laughs and Ian interrupts.

“Wait, wait, wait. Just so you know, Harry Styles, this is coming from the person who asked me who was in the final tonight when he was at my place during one of the semis,” Ian says and Nick sighs long and dramatic.

“Why do you always love to rain on my parade, Ian? Can’t you see I’m wearing a footie jersey and everything tonight? Is this how you repay me for hosting the best laddy night of the year?”

“You’re wearing an ancient Manchester United Beckham jersey. Last I checked, Becks hadn’t given up citizenship to become German and United didn’t suddenly relocate to the Bundesliga,” Ian says in his know-it-all voice.

“I haven’t a clue what language you’re even speaking anymore, Chaloner. Maybe you’re the one who should give up your English citizenship to become German, eh?” Nick suggests. 

“Because then you’d be decidedly lacking in a producer, Nick, why don’t you have a think about that?” Ian says resolutely and Nick snorts. 

“If Ian moves to Germany he’d take your best friend with him, Nick, I honestly don’t think you could live without Aims,” Daisy says, patting at Nick’s hand where it’s resting over her knee. Her long hair is tickling at his cheek where he’s still cuddled up close to her.

“Alright _fine_ , I was just messing about anyway. Aimee, don’t ever leave me,” Nick says, sitting up so he can wrap his arms around Aimee to his left instead. Aimee laughs loud in his ear and scritches her nails where his hair is getting long behind his neck. 

“I love this one more than any of you,” Nick mumbles, and tilts his head up and noses at Aimee, searching for a kiss. Aimee gives him a dry peck on the mouth and pinches his cheek. 

“Wow will you look at that, Nick is already rather _friendly_ and he’s only on his second drink,” Ian says, looking pointedly over at where Nick is still wrapped around his girlfriend.

“I wouldn’t expect any less of him, love,” Aimee says. “Also, you guys would have to surgically remove Nick from my hip before he’d let me move away.”

Nick nods because it’s not even something he can try to deny.

“Aimee and I have a marriage pact, and if she leaves London she’d be dishonoring it,” Nick says casually. 

“It would be such a laugh if Nick and Aims got married. You guys _have_ to do it,” Pixie pipes up from where she’s sitting on the armchair by them, her hands clapped together, a cheeky grin on her face.

“I for one, would love to see this unfold. Can I be your best man, Nick?” Harry asks. 

“ _Ooooh,_ if Harold’s best man I want to be a bridesmaid. Aimee, you know I’d throw you the best bachelorette party, my party planning skills are unmatched,” Daisy says excitedly.  

“ _Hold up_ , everyone. The pact is that we both have to be single when we hit forty. If I still haven’t found the one when I’m a middle-aged silver fox, it clearly means Aims has always been the one for me. Then I want a marriage, picket fence, and loads of babies,” Nick says.

“That’s quite a solid pact,” Harry says, a smirk on his face.

“And it’s been that way since I was naive twenty-year old Nick with his heart broken for the first time,” Nick says, taking a long sip of his beer. “Christ, my _life_.” 

“Aw, but you were so _cute_ ,” Aimee says, pressing another kiss to the top of Nick’s head. 

“No, I was just stupid enough to think I could make a straight boy gay with my cock alone,” Nick says, rolling his eyes.

Someone clears their throat and Nick looks up to realize it was Harry.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, cheeks twinging pink.

 _How strange_ , Nick thinks. 

“Yeah, I try not to think about it,” Nick mumbles.

“So,” Daisy says loudly. “Nick’s turning thirty in a month, I think this means the clock is ticking for us to try and set him up with any lovely lads we know.”

“Ones who decidedly won’t be breaking his heart,” she adds, looking thoughtful.

“Please, I’ve had enough blind dates to last me a lifetime. Half the time the sex is lacklustre and I _hate_ meeting someone for the first time under such unnatural circumstances,” he groans.

“I find blind dates really fun,” Pixie says. “Nothing like free dinner and no-strings-attached sex with a cute boy.”

“ _Urgh_ , don’t even start. Blind dating is so much easier for girls, you guys don’t have to do anything,” Nick protests. 

“I beg your pardon, Nick. A date for me usually means a whole day at the spa getting a Moroccan bath to fix my pores and then popping into a salon for my hair and nails,” Pixie says, indignant. “And a Brazilian, come to think of it.”

“First of all, _T-M-I,_ ” Nick sing-songs. “Thanks for that, Pix. And didn’t anyone ever tell you not to treat every bloody date like it’s the day before your wedding night? Honestly, a Moroccan bath is so needlessly excessive.” 

“I find them quite relaxing,” Harry muses.

“Course you would, popstar. Wouldn’t expect any less of you,” Nick teases. He’s met with an indignant, “ _Heyyy,_ ” and Nick sticks his tongue out at Harry.

“They’re good for you Grim! Our skin is very elastic, we need to take care of it. A Moroccan bath is great for that natural glow. Can’t you see it on Harry?” Daisy says, turning to Harry and squeezing his cheeks between her palms. Harry makes a silly fish face, puckering up his lips and crossing his eyes, and Daisy giggles, letting him go and tugging at his curls.

“Daisy, _love you_ , but please, shut up,” Nick says and Daisy gasps. She’s laughing though, and Nick tangles his fingers in hers to show he’s just winding her up.

The rest of the night continues in a similar fashion, all of Nick’s friends trying to come up with a lad to set him up with, and Nick is so close to interrupting and saying he’s been perfectly happy shagging Harry.

Nick stops himself from going there because he realizes that he doesn’t want to bring it up, as it would mean acknowledging that his thing with Harry is more of a relationship than either of them would like to admit. That shuts Nick up into a quiet stupor for a bit, and then he realizes that the conversation between his mates has fizzled out as the match on the telly got more intense. Nick sips at his beer silently, his eyes not quite focusing on the game on the screen. He leans into Aimee more heavily, and she wraps her arm around him, letting him cuddle close to her. It helps, a bit.

 

-

 

Nick goes for a wee after Germany have won and his living room’s been transformed into a party zone. There’s loud music blasting and about fifteen more people than Nick remembered inviting milling about, everyone busy laughing, singing, drinking and making enough of a ruckus that he’s sure his annoying next door neighbors are going to come ringing at his bell complaining about the noise soon.

There’s only two bathrooms in his flat, the guest bathroom by the kitchen which is locked and occupied and his own ensuite in his bedroom. The door to the ensuite in his room is closed too, and Nick’s puzzled.

“Aimee? Pixie? Who’s in my bathroom?” Nick says and barges in without knocking. He’s in his bedroom, after all. 

When Nick pushes the door open he walks in on the last thing he was expecting to see tonight.

Nick had been prepared to see someone being sick in his toilet, or one of the girls fixing their makeup in the bathroom mirror, but instead it’s Harry on his knees in front of Daisy, who’s sat on the edge of his bathtub, her panties and skirt on the ground caught in her stilettos. Harry’s hands are clutching at her thighs and Daisy’s fingers are wound around his curls, clearly holding his head where she wants him.

Nick drops the drink he was holding in a moment of complete shock, his jaw dropping. Thankfully it’s just a some of that punch left in a plastic cup so there’s no shattered glass but the movement makes enough of a scene that Harry pulls his head up from between Daisy’s legs, turning to look at Nick with his wild eyes and his mouth open and wet. The red drink splashes all over the ground, getting on Harry’s shoes and Daisy’s bare legs.

Daisy’s saying, “ _Oh my god, oh my god, bloody fucking hell,_ ” and her head is in her hands now, covering her face in what might be embarrassment or shock.

“Right then,” Nick says, somehow managing to keep his voice loud and firm, despite the tremor he feels building in his toes. His heart’s dropped right out of his chest and when Harry’s eyes meet his own, Nick just finds himself shaking his head at him minutely and turning around, making sure to slam the door shut as loud as possible. 

He stands in his bedroom for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. And then it hits him how fucking livid he feels. 

“Is it 1998 in here and someone didn’t tell me?” Nick says out loud, hoping his voice carries and Harry and Daisy can hear him. It’s an obnoxious move but he doesn’t fancy himself feeling fifteen years old and jealous over a boy he’d been getting off with. 

It hits him just then and there how quick and loose he’s been playing this thing with Harry. He doesn’t think Harry has given it half as much thought as Nick. For all Nick knows Harry could be spending four days straight shacking it up with Nick in his bed and then ditching him for someone younger, hotter, flirtier and looking more like Nick’s _best bloody friend_ because apparently getting to shag Nick isn’t enough for Harry.

“Shag as many models as you bloody want, _I don’t care_ ,” Nick continues, “just don’t shag them in my bathroom!”

Nick’s running his hands through his hair and he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He’s feeling terrified, his hands are shaking, and he leaves his room to head back out to the living room. He finds Aimee where she’s talking to someone he doesn’t even recognize, says, “Sorry, I’m stealing my best friend. There’s been a crisis,” and grabs her wrist, dragging her all the way across the dining room and through his French doors out to the garden, where it’s dark out, the yellow lights of Nick’s deck flickering in the night.

When they’re outside, and in the given illusion of privacy with a few people smoking and talking quietly on Nick’s deck, Nick takes a deep breath and the words come tumbling out. He’s facing Aimee, clutching both of her wrists in his hands now, because he need something to hold on to help him feel anchored.

“My bathroom just now. Harry and Daisy. He was eating her out, Aims. In _my_ bathroom, at _my_ party, in _my_ fucking flat,” Nick says, his voice verging on hysterical. He can’t even put together full sentences because he’s actually freaking out. He vaguely wonders if this is what a panic attack feels like. 

Aimee bites lip, and she takes Nick’s hands properly in her own, interlaces her fingers with Nick’s, and doesn’t say anything. She just tugs Nick close and stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into a hug, her chin digging into Nick’s shoulder.

“Babe, I’m so sorry,” Aimee whispers, and it’s close in his ear, Aimee’s hand winding up his neck and into his hair, pulling Nick tighter against her.

Nick takes a shaky breath and nods. He doesn’t quite know what to say either. He lets Aimee hold him and melts against her. He wants to ditch his party right now, wants to go straight into his bed and hide under the covers and forget he saw a damn thing. He’d rather not know than be feeling like complete shit. He says that to Aimee, his voice low and hurt. And Nick knows his eyes are rimmed red, but he’s not going to let himself cry over this. It’s not worth it.

“You’re allowed to feel upset, love,” Aimee says, because Aimee knows the inside of his brain better than anyone, and she pulls back only to rest her forehead against Nick’s own.

“It’s like, a mix between feeling really upset and maybe wanting to murder popstars right now,” Nick says, and Aimee gives him a sad smile. 

“I’m sorry you can’t leave your party, but how ‘bout you let me take care of you, yeah? I can find Pixie so she can have a word with Harry and Daisy. You don’t even have to see them if you don’t want to,” Aimee says, her voice slow and uncertain. 

“I really don’t want to see them, Aims,” Nick says, pulling back a bit so he can run his hands in his hair in frustration. Aimee nods and stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jeans, giving him space.

“I’ll go find Pix and get you a jacket for this chill. Wait here for me, yeah? Don’t go anywhere,” Aimee says, and her palm brushes against Nick’s cheek in a soft touch. Nick nods, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. He’s only in his thin jersey and he didn’t realize he was shivering. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s cold or from his nerves making him feel like he’s going to burst out of his skin.

When Aimee heads back inside he finds himself turning around only to sit on one of the stone steps that lead into his tiny garden patch. Resting his head on his arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes drift closed as he tries to slow his breathing. At least it’s quiet out here, and the party doesn’t seem so loud from Nick’s garden. Maybe he can just sit here and ask Aimee to kick everyone out and tell them to go somewhere else for the after party. Right now Nick couldn’t care less about who won the World Cup. He just wants to be alone. 

As Nick sits there, his bum going numb and cold from the stone steps, he can’t stop replaying in his mind what he had just walked in on.

If it hadn’t hurt Nick so much to see two of his favorite people together maybe he’d be able to ignore it, but the fact of the matter is that Nick’s _always_ known Harry had a massive crush on Daisy and he can’t believe he was blind enough that he didn’t see this coming. He’s already battled with his feelings of envy when it came to Harry and Daisy but after that one scene Nick and Harry had made together at Harry’s birthday more than a year ago, Nick hasn’t thought of the possibility of Harry and Daisy getting it on even once.

Nick knows he’s the possessive type and in his mind he knew that his thing with Harry stopped being casual probably when Nick had confessed to him how much he’d liked him. When Harry had come out to him and then they spent the entire day getting each other off. Nick’s gone and fucked it all up by falling too hard for Harry. _God_ , who was he kidding thinking he could do casual sex. Nick’s life is such a predictable joke.

Nick’s still moping about it when Aimee comes back with his denim jacket for him, sitting next to him on the stone steps.

She also hands him a fag and Nick accepts it gratefully. “You’re a damn angel,” Nick says, and leans in so Aimee can light up the fag for him with her hot pink Zippo lighter.

They sit there outside for a while, passing the fag back and forth until it’s burnt down to a stub. Aimee doesn’t say anything, just has her arm around Nick and lets Nick lean his head against her shoulder. She waits until he’s ready to go back inside and face his party, assures him that he doesn’t have to worry about Daisy or Harry because they’ve probably already left. 

Nick trudges back inside half-heartedly, his fingers smelling like cigarettes when he runs them through his hair.

 

-

 

Nick’s not positive where he placed the beer he had been drinking but as he flits from person to person, kissing newcomers on the cheek with a tight smile on his face, he heads to the kitchen to put together a strong gin and tonic for himself. He surveys the mess of cups and half-empty bottles of vodka on the counter and spots Daisy’s gluten-free sugar cookies, all cutely shaped like tiny footie players in fully outfitted kits. He grabs one and bites off the head in satisfaction.

He resists the urge to chuck the load of them in the trash. He reminds himself how he’s edging on thirty and that grown men don’t throw away their best friends’ cookies out of spite, no matter who’s pants they’ve gotten into this week.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine today?” Nick hears someone say over his shoulder and turns around to see that it’s Finchy. 

Nick gives him a wry smile. 

“Shut it, Finchy. You try hosting a World Cup party for what you thought was ten people and ended up with half of London in your living room. My head’s spinning.” 

“Only answer to that is more alcohol of course. How about some of the margarita mix Aimee brought over? Should be in the fridge, it’s really good.”

“Ah, more sugary drinks and tequila. My one true savior. Alright, pour us a cup. Not too much though, I still have to play host,” Nick says, before stuffing the rest of the sugar cookie man in his mouth. He begrudgingly has to give Daisy some credit, the things are bloody delicious, flour being sacrificed in the process or no.

Nick grabs the cup Finchy hands him and with a shrug, takes the whole pitcher from the counter as well.

“Help me bring these out to the lounge, will you?” Nick says, gesturing to the cookies with a nod of his head. 

“Yeah, will do. Take it easy, Grimmy. You’ve got this down, everyone loves you out there and is well on their way to too drunk to notice how good of a host you are,” Finchy says and Nick grins. 

“Ah, Finchy dear, you might want to keep the sweet-talk for the bedroom. Thanks though,” Nick winks and hip-checks Finchy on his way out of the kitchen. 

He hears Finchy groan in the background.

“We’re not married, Grimmy!” 

“You keep telling yourself that, love,” Nick says.

 

-

 

Nick only manages to entertain his guests for another hour before he finds Aimee and Ian and begs them to help him kick everybody out of his flat, it’s late and he’s too exhausted and drunk to deal with a massive after-party. 

When everybody’s blessedly herded out of his door, Nick hangs back and watches as Aimee and Ian grab the last of their things so they can head out too. Pixie has already passed out in Nick’s bed and Nick can’t blame her, counting down the minutes til he can strip down and wash up before he cuddles up in bed next to her.

Aimee gives him a long hug and kisses him on the mouth before she leaves, whispering to him that it’ll be alright. Nick nods, flushing under Ian’s concerned watchful eye, where he’s waiting by the door clutching Aimee’s massive purse dutifully.

“Bye, Nick,” Ian says. “Try to take it easy tomorrow.”

“Yeah, cheers Ian. Thanks for helping out tonight,” Nick says, and waves at them, waiting til they’re outside and walking to their car. He clicks the door shut once they’re out of sight and doesn’t even think about the mess of the party, just heads straight to his bedroom so he can get ready for bed.

Pixie’s curled up in his bed and Nick gives a relieved sigh, heading into his bathroom to brush his teeth.

At least he won’t have to sleep alone tonight.

 

-

 

Nick is sat on his sofa, crouching over his laptop propped up on his trunk coffee table. Finchy’s sent him the schedule for the next week of the show and Nick’s got all sorts of people to email asking for favors. It’s Sunday and he would usually be nursing a hangover, but he woke up early as ever and figured he might as well do something productive.

Harry had stumbled into his room late last night, sweaty and fresh from the last of their gigs at the O2, and had draped himself over Nick’s body, the thick length of his dick hard against Nick’s bum. Nick was on his belly, drifting in and out of sleep, but he’d turned around and nudged Harry off with a hand to his shoulder. 

“Keep your dick in your pants for one night, Styles. Let a man sleep,” he’d grumbled, and Harry didn’t respond. 

He did, however, roll out of bed and then spend ages in the shower.

That night, Harry hadn’t spooned up behind him like usual, and when Nick had woken up in the morning Harry was all the way on the other side of the bed, his curls spread out over the other pillow and the long length of his naked back facing Nick. Nick quietly slipped out of bed and into the shower, alone. If he'd jerked himself off under the hot spray, one hand on the shower's tiled wall and the other wrapped around his cock, thinking about if he'd let Harry fuck him open while he was half-asleep, no one has to know.

An hour later, Harry finds him on the sofa working and comes to sit down by him. He brings him a fresh cup of black coffee, sets it down on the table and crawls onto the opposite end of the sofa, his back propped up on several pillows and his feet tucked under Nick’s thighs. He had his own cup of steaming hot tea cupped between his hands. 

Nick mumbles a quick, “ _thanks for the coffee,_ ” and Harry hums noncommittally.

They stay like that for a while, not making conversation. Nick is still mad at Harry about what had happened at the party, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it, other than a mumbled apology from Harry in Nick’s voicemail the next morning which Nick hadn’t bothered responding to.

Nick had taken his niece and a whole bunch of his cousins to Harry’s gig earlier in the week because they’d been planning it for ages, Harry having given Nick tickets and backstage passes and a promise that he’d meet him and the girls before the show during soundcheck. They’d both played nice and friendly towards each other when Nick saw him backstage but it was all a facade. The reality was that it was strained and weird between them, Nick not quite meeting Harry’s eyes and Harry’s mouth twisted in a frown.

The tension is still thick with Harry in the room now, and Nick is pointedly clicking away on his keys loudly, Harry occupied on his phone. They’ve spent many mornings just like this, but it’s always been an easy comfortable silence instead of what it’s like today, both of them barely even acknowledging the other. 

After a bit, Harry clears his throat. 

“Hey Nick?” Harry says. 

“Yes, Harold?” Nick says, not looking up from the email he’s typing on his computer. 

“Do you, um, remember when I was like, telling you about bread pudding?” Harry wiggles his toes under where they’re pressed up against Nick’s thigh. 

“I have no idea what you’re on about, H.”

He leans back and looks at Harry, the long length of his body taking up most of the sofa, the big mug of tea nestled in his lap.

His hair is all sleep-mussed and he’s still got pillowcase creases on his cheek. He looks perfect and if Nick wasn’t working and still ticked off at him he would be pressing him into the sofa and kissing him stupid right now.

“Remember when we were talking and like, I told you about having to choose all those bread puddings at the market and not being able to decide which I liked best?” 

Nick squints. Of course he knows what Harry’s talking about but he needs to play dumb for a moment, but his heart is suddenly dropping into his stomach. That was right when everything went downhill for Nick because he realized how ridiculously obsessed with Harry he was. Not in a creepy way, just in a I-want-to-kiss-you-all-the-time kind of way. Which at the time back then, for a 27-year-old in love with a 18-year-old, might be a tad creepy, he figures. Depends on who’s asking.

He pretends to ponder for a moment before he says, “ah right. Yes. I remember now.”

“Okay. Well. I kind of wanted to say that...” Harry pauses and his fingers are tracing the rim of the cup, round and round, not even looking at Nick in the eye. “That I think I know now. That I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready?”

Nick is quiet. Totally stunned because he feels like this particular conversation came out of nowhere. He wraps his hand around Harry’s ankle tightly so he can anchor himself to something. Harry’s toes twitch and he’s pulling at his lips nervously now, still avoiding making eye contact with Nick.

Nick takes a breath to steady himself. 

Harry came home to him after his show at the O2 and Nick had let him sleep in his bed, for Christ’s sake.

“I mean I completely fancy you,” Harry is rushing out, like he’s trying to do damage control for what he just uttered. “And at the beginning… For me, It was thrilling and exciting and all that?” 

Nick knows the color must be draining out of his face, but he says nothing yet.

“For me, there’ll always be a place where you and I have this great chemistry...” Harry continues.

“Are you…” Nick starts. “Are you seriously telling me that you’ve decided that you’re not ready _three years later_?” Nick says quietly. 

“No, like... Don’t make it sound like that. It’s been three years but we haven’t exactly been doing this thing for that long. You and I hardly get the chance to see each other unless I’m in London by some goddamn miracle because of my nightmare work schedule,” Harry says.

“Says the person who bought a place in LA only to spend all his time off in America instead of here,” Nick retorts.

“Nick…” Harry says. “Please just listen to what I’m trying to say. I wanted to tell you that it was _always_ thrilling and exciting between us. And that I think, us being friends is like, one of my favorite things about you.” 

 _You’re my favorite person,_ Harry’s old note had said. Nick wonders if that’s still the case. Somehow, he doubts it.

Nick has kept that letter tucked in his wallet ever since Harry had left it on his bureau for him almost two years ago. He carries that fucking thing with him everywhere. He carries Harry with him everywhere. If not in his wallet then in his phone, with a constant stream of texts and Skype calls. Harry Styles wormed his way into Nick’s life, into his bloody heart, for _three years_. 

“I mean. Nick. You walked in on me and Dais’ so you have to know what I’m talking about.”

With that quiet addition, he finally looks up at Nick and his bottom lip is bitten raw. 

 _Oh_ , Nick thinks, _so we’re talking about that now_?

It had made him feel so shit that Nick hadn’t wanted to address it at all, even after Harry’s weak little apology. Had wanted to pretend it was no big deal, that he was totally fine with whoever Harry wanted to put his dick in, even when it was one of his best friends whom he’d shared a bloody flat with at some point in his life. 

Nick doesn’t say a word. He physically _can’t_. He’s so damn choked up. 

“I think I want to try making it work with her and I just don’t think it’s fair for either of you if I’m stuck in the middle, you know?” Harry says.

 _You don’t have to be stuck in the middle_. Nick wants to say. _Be stuck with me_.

“Ah, right. So this is about Daisy and not hurting Daisy’s feelings, innit?” Nick finally says. He pushes Harry away slightly so Harry is forced to set his cup of tea on the trunk and his feet on the ground. Nick suddenly feels like he needs more space than this room allows.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Nick,” Harry says slow and gentle, like he’s talking to a wounded animal.

“Oh, by all means, popstar,” Nick says, letting loose a humourless laugh. “Give me all the ways in which I’m apparently the _wrong kind_ of bread pudding in this situation. Am I the generic Tesco brand to Daisy’s posh, all organic, free-range bread pudding?”

He feels spiteful and awful and like he’s never hated anything the way he hates this moment. He wants to hate Harry so much. Fuck. He wants to say some hurtful things and he doesn’t _care_ , he wants Harry to feel ashamed and guilty and most of all, he wants him to take back everything he just said and to pick _him_. 

“Nick... I never said that. Please don’t... You asked me to tell you when I was ready, and I’m telling you now. I’m telling you that I don’t think it was ever even a bi thing for me, I think it’s just a _you_ thing, Nick. I was trying to find a label for how I felt about you because I couldn’t fucking _resist_ you. Our chemistry was always the hottest thing to me,” Harry rushes out and Nick interrupts him.

Harry’s still sitting on the couch but Nick is standing up, leaning over the armchair adjacent to him. Nick runs his hands through his hair just to have something to hold onto. He’s not looking at Harry anymore, he’s wrapped his arms around himself protectively and trying to defend himself against this barrage of feelings he wasn’t expecting to have to deal with on a Sunday morning.

“We had that conversation when you’d just turned eighteen,” Nick says. “And I had wanted to make it clear that it was alright to be eighteen and confused about what you wanted.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow.

“I told you that when you were eighteen and now you’re twenty and you’re trying to tell me you’re done with us? Because what, I’m no longer convenient for you?” Nick asks, borderline hysterical.

“I don’t think it was ever about our chemistry for you, Harry,” he continues. “Don’t feed me bullshit about how you cared about chemistry. For you, it was always about the thrill of getting to be with someone you weren’t ever supposed to be caught with. You think I don’t remember the Brits?”

Harry looks like he’s been slapped, but Nick can’t seem to stop. 

“Or how I walked in on you and Daisy just last week, where you had the nerve to shag my _best mate_ in _my_ apartment. How instead of locking the door you decided to fuck it and let me come barging in and be forced to deal with seeing you on your knees in front of my best friend? It’s just some fun _thing_ , for you--a _game_. God it’s all about you, isn’t it? You’re twenty years old and you’re a huge popstar with the world at your feet and you want to try it _all._ And it’s not about me, fuck, it’s not even about Daisy. It’s total bullshit. Just say it to my face, Harry. Admit it. _You. Never. Wanted. Me._ ” 

He’s shut up Harry proper now. But Harry looks angry and he stands up too, so they’re facing each other in Nick’s living room where Nick feels like the walls are starting to close in on him.

“I know you’re upset right now, Nick, but don’t tell me how I feel about you. That’s what’s bullshit. It’s bullshit that I didn’t want you. I did want you. I was seventeen when we met. I had no idea what I was doing. Do you think that’s easy? Moving to London at seventeen with just a record deal and only having the friends a reality show picked out for you?

“Do you think I didn’t want you when I fucked you for the first time on Christmas Day at your parents house? That I didn’t want you when loads of other lads came to me because they wanted a shag and I turned down every single one of them because I realized I wasn’t interested in men at all? That I didn’t care for any other guy’s dick other than yours?” Harry says, the words rushing out.

Nick rolls his eyes. He storms off into the dining room just to move and break the static tension in the air around them.

“Fine. You’re not interested in men. Bloody wonderful,” Nick mutters. “Give an A-star for the popstar who decided he’d fuck one of his best mates for three years. Fuck him right in the arse, whether you want to admit it or not. And then decided one day that you’re just done with me? That all this time you’ve just been stringing me along because, what? I was _thrilling_ to you? The chemistry was just _impossible_ to resist?”

His back is to Harry as Harry follows him into the dining room. He goes around to stand across from Nick so that the dining table is separating them and they’re forced to face each other again. The table with the polished wood on the surface, reflecting blue light from the sign plugged in on the wall to their left. A sore, physical reminder that what was between them was _real_.

“Nick, you said you were mad about me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Harry says quietly.

And suddenly, like a switch, Nick is really, really terrified. His palms start sweating and he clenches them into fists and tries to ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He wishes he could take back everything he had ever said to Harry, so none of it can be used against him.

“And like, at some point, I felt the same. I _was_ mad for you, it was like, _so_ bloody intense sometimes. How much I wanted you,” Harry continues. “But now… It just kind of fizzled out for me, you know? I can feel that the excitement’s faded and it’s turned into this whole thing. It always feels really hard to try keeping up whatever’s between us when everyone around us is trying to interfere and we _never_ have any privacy. Somewhere in between buying my place in LA, and like, being away for nine months on tour and _then_ when I’m finally here in London for what always feels like a five minute interval, we always have to be _so_ careful. We can never just be caught with each other and that kind of just like, killed it?”

Harry’s voice is still low, almost a murmur, and it burrows beneath Nick’s skin like its gently searing it.

He takes a deep breath and folds his arms, curling in on himself a little, and tries to rationalize. It’s real life that killed it for Harry. It’s not Nick, it’s everything surrounding them and the constant bullshit they have to put up with just to see each other. Nick knew it would come down to this, somehow.

How could he have ever thought he could make it work with a popstar? How could he have thought that he’d be _enough_ for Harry’s fast-paced life? That him, Nick, with his boring radio gig that never lets him stay out late because he has to be up at the arse crack of dawn, that’s almost ten years Harry’s senior and has virtually no social life outside of work and an endless string of boring PR events taking up his weekends, could keep Harry entertained and _wanting_ him? 

He thinks about Daisy, and the way Daisy must of been like a breath of fresh air for Harry. 

She’s almost Harry’s own age and is the sexiest bloody pin-up model on this side of London, she’s also a _girl_ and travels loads because of the nature of her modeling gigs so she can probably pop into LA whenever she wants to visit Harry. And it wouldn’t be a big deal if people happened to find out Harry and Daisy were shagging, it wouldn’t mean Harry’s career would be in jeopardy the way it would unfold if people were to find out him and Nick were a thing. That’s never been an option for them. Being caught was never an option. They always had to be secret, clandestine, and pretending to be just mates for the cameras.

Nick rubs at his eyes tiredly. 

“I really didn’t want to hurt your feelings, Nick. I didn’t think we’d end up here. You knew I was shagging other people and I mean, I’ve been seeing loads of girls in between the thing with you, but I don’t actually think you’ve seen anyone else? And I don’t really know if that’s like, healthy for you?” Harry is speaking even slower than normal, like he’s picking his words carefully.

“Harry,” Nick says quietly. “I think it’s best if you leave now.

“Nick...” 

“I’m absolutely serious. Just-” Nick’s heart is pounding in his ears and he’s just so, so tired of this. He’s trying his best to stay as composed as possible. “Please Harry. Just go.”

“No. Wait. Listen… Can I?” Harry mumbles, walking around the table towards Nick as if to pull him close or kiss him or something horribly sweet and caring because that’s just how Harry _is_. Nick flinches and walks backwards to put more space between them before Harry can touch him.

“I would really, really like to be alone right now, Harry. I think you know the way out.” Nick says, regaining his composure and straightening his shoulders. He edges even further away to the opposite side of the room, so it’s as if they’ve swapped places. He needs the physical distance between them because he can’t deal with Harry thinking it’s alright to touch him or kiss him anymore. Not after this. 

Harry’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks confused but he bites his lip and nods resolutely.

“Right. Okay. I’ll just...” he’s running his hands through his long curly hair, moving out of the room and away from Nick. “Let me get my stuff and be out, then.” 

Harry grabs his coat from where it’s thrown over Nick’s couch and heads over to the bedroom. His big leather duffle of stuff is still in there, hadn’t even had the chance to open it because he’d gotten in so late last night.

“Um, I’ll come by and get the rest of my things later. Tomorrow. Or something. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Nick replies, his voice rough. 

“Right, then...” Nick can see Harry hesitate. “I’ll, um. I’ll call you. Bye, Nick.”

Nick doesn’t respond. Just turns to face his garden patch outside the French doors until Harry leaves. He hears Harry shuffle out and the swift sound of the click of the door that signals Nick’s finally going to get some privacy. He takes a deep breath and tries to quell the shaking of his fingers, rubs his sweaty palms over the thin scratchy cotton of his pajamas. He knows his eyes are probably rimmed red and he rubs at them in exhaustion. 

When Nick finally feels like he’s made sense of what the inside of his head feels like, he opens the doors to let some sunshine and air in and turns around to head back to the living room. 

Nick starts collecting cups and things off the trunk and tidying up the place. Pig jumps off of the sofa and is quick on his heels. Nick lets himself sit down on the sofa for a moment.

“Hey Piggy,” Nick says in his softest voice. Leans over and places her in his lap. He cuddles her to his chest, feeling her heartbeat on his fingers, how soft her fur is. 

Nick takes a deep, shaky breath.

“You’re alright, aren’t you, Piggy?” Pig just looks up at him with her wide brown eyes. “I’m not Tesco brand bread pudding to you am I?” She yawns, mouth going wide, before licking at Nick’s hand. 

“You don’t even know what bread pudding is do you? Course not. You’re a dog,” he says, scritches her head and lets himself sink into his wide, cosy couch, his puppy clutched close to his chest as he tries to slow his breath and choke down the lump in his throat.

Nick doesn’t know how long he sits there stroking at Pig’s fur, as she curls up in his lap and blinks her eyes sleepily. He lets himself sit there in his living room for a while, listening to the rustle of the leaves outside in the garden and the tinkling sound of the windchimes his neighbors have strung up outside their deck.

Nick doesn’t need to be anywhere at all today. He’d cleared his schedule and his mates all know that Harry’s in town. Nick had made sure he and Harry could have some alone time and shack up in his apartment all day. Nick had even stocked up the fridge because they loved to cook a small Sunday roast with each other, just another small tradition they’d picked up between the two of them, even if they only ever saw each other for probably six Sundays out of the year.

Nick resolves to not think about Harry and their plans to make a roast and probably spend the rest of the day going through bottles of wine, shagging all over Nick’s couch and his bed because they hardly ever got a place to themselves. He just tips his head back on his couch, Pig in his lap, listening to the windchime outside, and tries really, really hard not to let himself have a cry about it.

He almost succeeds.

 

-

 

When Nick finally makes it back to his room an hour or two later, he sees the tangled sheets and strips the bed, grabbing the big pile of sheets. He’d just put on a fresh set before Harry arrived last night but he doesn’t want the smell of Harry’s cologne anywhere near him right now. He mechanically carries the load to the closet-sized laundry room he has by his kitchen and dumps it there to deal with later.

When he heads back to his room he notices Harry’s forgotten all his rings on the bedside table. They’re sat right next to a strip of condoms and lube. Nick sighs, picks up all the rings and takes them over to drop into a box on his dresser. If Harry comes back to get them he’ll just have to figure out where they’ve gone. 

Nick tidies up the rest of the room, puts on a new set of sheets and clears the bedside table so it’s just his lamp and alarm slash radio system. He picks up stray clothing strewn around the room, the shirt Harry had been wearing when he’d gotten in last night. 

Nick is physically and emotionally exhausted. Everything around him seems to be Harry-related and he can’t deal with it. He feels trapped inside his own mad head and he starts darting around trying to clear his bedroom space until it finally feels like _his_ and his only again. He has to grab the McQueen scarf Harry had left on his dresser, the one that had been pushing his hair back at his show at the O2 the previous night. He spies a pair of Harry’s black Oxford boots in the corner and picks those up too. 

It’s like a never-ending test of his sanity, the amount of Harry’s things that he manages to uncover and stash away so he doesn’t have to look at them. So he can cleanse away everything Harry related from his life, from his _head_. He drops it all in the box on his dresser, makes a mental note to tell Harry to come grab it when he’s at work on Monday so Nick won’t even have to see him.

Once the room looks clean and practically photo-ready, Nick takes the box of Harry’s belongings and carries it over to the front door, dropping it and hearing it thunk on the ground. Nick feels some minimal satisfaction and then sighs long and deep.

He heads back to his room and decides that instead of sulking alone, he’s going to text Aimee and knows she’ll be the only one out of all his mates that will drop everything to come over in an hour or two tops, with a bottle of vodka in hand and maybe, hopefully, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

 _"He broke up with me_ ," Nick types out.

He sets his phone on the bedside table and gets into bed, curling up into a ball in his soft, fresh sheets so he can have a kip and not have to deal with waking up alone. 

He’s glad he can no longer smell Harry at all.

 

-

 

Nick wakes up to Aimee’s long witchy nails stroking through his hair.

“Hey love…” she says, looking down in concern at Nick. Both Pig and Thurston are on Nick’s bed. Aimee squeezes out of her jeans and joins them, crawling in next to Nick too. “How you feeling?”

“Time s’it?” Nick croaks, rolling over to grab his phone off the bedside table. It’s only 3 PM which means he managed to sleep for two hours. 

“Too early for a nap but you’re excused today,” Aimee says softly, wrapping her arms around Nick and pulling him close so Nick’s head is cushioned on her boobs. She lets him tangle their legs together and hug back, all sleep-warm and cosy.

Nick makes a noncommittal noise and squeezes Aimee closer.

“You wanna talk about it?” She says.

Nick sighs.

“He’s a fucking arsehole,” Nick says shortly.

“Yeah? Was he mean about it?” Aimee says gently.

Nick snuffles and wills the shitty feeling to just disappear.

“Harry Styles is not mean. He’s just a bit selfish. He’s bloody selfish and he told me he’d had this sudden ‘ _realization_ ,’” Nick makes quotation marks, “that he’s not bi at all. Isn’t interested in blokes after all. Said he was only ever interested in me, but I don’t think that’s even true really.” 

“He said that?” Aimee asks. She pushes back at Nick’s shoulder so she can look him in the eye.

Nick sits up against the headboard of his bed, puts his face in his hands and groans loudly. 

“There was this big talk we had, two years ago, when he was eighteen. And I said to him, Harry, you don’t have to come out as bi to me. _I’m mad about you_. I actually said that to him, Aims, I basically told him that I was all in and I’d wait for him until he was ready,” Nick rushes out and he’s talking into his hands now, his legs going up so he can wrap his arms around himself. 

He props his head on his arms and looks at Aimee. Her eyebrows are furrowed and Nick finds Thurston has stolen his spot, nudging up at Aimee’s hand for belly rubs. She absentmindedly pets him on the head as she tries to make sense of what Nick said.

“Alright…?” Aimee says slowly, motioning for Nick to continue.

“And today out of nowhere, he starts to talk about how, ‘ _oh, I don’t know Nick, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready and I’ve never liked other lads anyway, it was just you,_ ’” Nick imitates in Harry’s morbid slow tone. “And I told him, it took you _two years_ after we had that conversation to figure out you’re not interested in men? After fucking me for the past three? Like, isn’t that the most backwards logic you’ve ever heard in your life, or what, Aimee?”

Aimee is quiet, a frown on her face.

“ _Isn’t it?_ ” Nick asks again. 

Aimee bites her lip. “Nick, to be fair, Harry was awfully young when this thing started between you two,” she says. “There’s a part of me that wants to find Harry so I can give him a swift punch to the face for breaking my best friend’s heart, but like… maybe think of yourself in his shoes for a moment? It probably just happened too fast for him to even make sense of it? And he trusted you. If you told him you’d wait until he was ready, then it’s not fair for you to take that back, no matter what he’s decided. Nick, I love you from the bottom of my heart but if Harry says he’s not interested in men, that’s his business,” Aimee continues, and she’s got her hand over Nick’s on his knee now. “That being said, however, I know how much you’re hurt right now because he definitely did not go about all this the right way.” 

 _Three years isn’t too fast_ , Nick wants to say, but he’s quiet because he knows Aimee is right. He sighs deep and stretches out his legs again, tipping his head back against the headboard and letting himself slump down further into the sheets. 

“I think that the worst bloody part of this for me is that I can’t even hate him for it. I want to, like, I want to despise him and draw cocks all over every photo of him I see, and maybe even burn the box of things he’s left here just to be spiteful but,” Nick pauses to take a breath, centers himself. “But it would all be a lie because no matter what he’s said to me, my feelings for him are still there. They haven’t disappeared. If Harry walked into my room right now and asked me if he could take back everything he’d just said and could I please forgive him, do you know what I’d say, Aims?” Nick asks.

“You’d say yes,” Aimee says quietly, and curls her fingers around Nick’s hand.

Nick just nods, biting his lip really hard and hoping his eyes don’t look as red as they feel. He really needs to get ahold of himself. 

“Alright, Nick. This is the point where I tell you I’ve brought provisions. A pitcher of my tequila-heavy margarita mix and some curry from your favorite place. Both currently in your fridge,” Aimee says and Nick swallows down the lump in his throat.

“You really are the bestest friend in the whole wide world,” Nick mumbles shakily. 

“You know it. Come on now, up to the kitchen so we can get you a drink and some food. Have you eaten a thing today?” Aimee asks with concern, as she starts to climb out of Nick’s bed. 

He shakes his head but pulls himself out of bed too. The dogs hop off and run out of the room, Thurston quick on Pig’s tail. 

“Then we need to get some food in you,” Aimee says as she grabs a pair of Nick’s boxers from his closet and slips them on. She heads over to his dresser, takes off her big chunky earrings and several rings, and unravels the tight knot of her fiery red hair to let it down. Nick’s watched Aimee dress down for a lazy night hundreds of times before and he goes over and places his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms round her waist.

“Love you,” Nick says and presses a kiss to her neck. Aimee just smiles at his reflection in the mirror and turns around to give Nick a proper hug. 

“Hey,” she says gently, clutching Nick close. “It’s gonna be alright, yeah?” 

Nick doesn’t say anything, just holds his best friend close, breathes in the smell of her hairspray and gives himself a moment to let loose in her tight warm embrace.

“I’m right here,” Aimee says with a whisper, when Nick doesn’t respond. She’s running her hands over Nick’s head. “Not goin’ anywhere ‘til you fucking kick me out. I’m going to move in this week just to make sure we _make it_ alright. 

She pulls back and looks into Nick’s eyes, where they’re wet at the corners. Thumbs his tears away and presses a dry kiss to his mouth. Nick just nods and leans his forehead against Aimee’s.

If anything, Nick’s always known the space in his life before Harry Styles had stepped into it. There might be a Harry-sized hole in his heart right now but he knows his best friend is there to help him patch it up. He doesn’t feel quite so miserable with someone there to take care of him, to tell him it’s alright to spend all day in bed because a boy broke his heart.

 

-

 

“I wasn’t just getting off with him, Aims. I told him I was _all in_ ,” Nick slurs.

“Oh, love. Come here.” Aimee says, dragging his head so it’s resting on her shoulder. They’re laying in bed again and it’s just past midnight, the lights in the room dimmed low. The sheets are kicked around their ankles and Pig and Thurston are curled up warm and sleepy on Nick’s feet.

“I told him I was all in two years ago, and now it's been three. Fucking christ Aims, is this what it’s like to have your heart broken?” 

Aimee presses a kiss into his hair. “You two _were_ basically married in 2012. Even _I’d_ tell Harry Styles I was all in if he shagged my brains out as much as you two did that summer.” 

Nick sighs heavily.

“That summer was bloody amazing,” Nick says, with a small smile. Then he remembers something and his heart drops all over again. “Hey, Aims?” Nick asks, curling into her closer and tangling their legs together. Pig snuffles and rolls over onto her back on the fluffy part of Nick’s duvet. 

“Yeah, love?”

“When I fall asleep, and before you go to bed, can you go out into my dining room and unplug a certain blue sign that’s sitting on my bureau?” Nick says. 

Aimee’s hand stills where it was stroking Nick’s curls.

“If you could just like--unplug it and hide it somewhere. _Don’t_ chuck it. Just hide it behind a shelf or in my closet somewhere so that when I wake up in the morning, I don’t have to see it while I have my tea before work,” Nick says, and he’s biting his lip, hand nervously clutched on Aimee’s thigh now. 

“Yeah, alright,” Aimee says slowly, her fingers starting to gently brush through Nick’s curls again. “You should sleep, love. I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

Nick’s best friend is a godsend.

“Aims, why couldn’t I have fallen in love with you instead?” Nick says quietly. 

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. _Fallen in love_. He never acknowledged that he might be in love with Harry. They weren’t boyfriends. They were just, something weird and too close to the term that the both of them never dared breathe. But Nick knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’d fallen for Harry somewhere between the blurred lines of them being friends and that counts for something. Not quite boyfriends but maybe a little bit exclusive. At least they were in Nick’s case. 

“Don’t think I’ve got the right parts for that, Grim,” Aimee says lightly.

“I think all your parts are perfect. I’m actually in love with your boobs, although I’m afraid I’d need to get the sex from someone else because your cock is decidedly lacking,” Nick rambles, Aimee’s fingers in his hair are getting him all sleep-stupid and he’s not even sure what he’s saying anymore, just that there are words coming out of his mouth.

Aimee giggles. “Shh,” she says and presses a kiss to his forehead.

That’s the last thing Nick remembers before he finally drifts off to sleep.

 

-

 

In the week that follows, Nick sleep earlier and earlier and finds himself waking up at 4 AM on some mornings before work.

On those days Nick walks Pig to the top of Primrose Hill and takes his tea in a thermos with him, as well as a new pack of Marlboros that he had to pick up from the store because he smoked through his emergency pack in two days.

Aimee looks at him with concern in her eyes every time he shuffles back at 5:15 AM to leave for work. Under normal circumstances she’d be out like a light but she promised him she would set her alarm so they could have breakfast together every morning before he had to leave for the radio. She starts to say, “ _well if you’re walking Pig then take Thurston with you too,_ ” and Nick just smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of her fiery orange hair. 

Nick knows he looks like a nutter, ambling along the hill with two dogs in the middle of the night, but at the top of the hill there’s a bench that overlooks the city and Nick’s found it’s the only spot that really calms him down.

Sometimes he brings a ball so he can play fetch with the dogs, but it’s more about being outside and breathing in the smell of the grass and fresh air that helps bring Nick some calm to his day. By the time Nick heads back to his flat, the sky starts lightening up in beautiful purples and blues.

It becomes one of his favorite parts of his day.

He’s worked with his PR person to fully map out his schedule for the upcoming month so that he doesn’t get a spare moment during the day. He’s left time for a nap after work and lunch, but after that, Nick attends meetings for the new season of _Sweat_ , has shoots and interviews with magazines to take care of, and finds every red carpet event and opening he could possibly go to and pencils them into his schedule.

Word about the split filters through his mates, and naturally, to his Breakfast crew as well. He hates the pitied looks thrown his way, and that when he gets into the radio in the morning, everyone drops silent and then goes on to speak to him gently, treating him like he’s about to break.

Nick has a quiet appreciation for their concern but he tries to ignore it, would rather not let his personal life bleed into his job, and so he goes about his show as professionally as possible.

One morning, right before a link, he receives a text from an _L.T_. The number saved on his phone from one incident, ages ago, when Harry’s phone had died and he’d needed to use Nick’s to call Louis.

 _“Hi Nick,”_ the text says, “ _can I swing by today after lunch to grab H’s stuff?”_

It catches him off-guard, as strikingly real in this confusing mess that Nick is still trying to navigate. His phone is littered with apologies from Harry that he’s been ignoring because he needs space to _not_ think about him.

It seems his message came across or else it wouldn’t be Louis who was texting him.

Nick’s fingers hesitate over his screen before he responds.

 _“That’s fine,”_ he settles on. “ _I’ll be home after work at 11 till 2PM_.” 

All he receives is a “ _K”_ , in response, and tries not to feel too anxious about seeing Louis later.

 

-

 

Nick feels a bit like his mum when he’s making tea and setting it in a proper teapot, waiting for Louis to swing by. He’s not sure why his brain is insisting he make this formal but he has a feeling Louis coming by has more to do with him wanting to talk to Nick than just him agreeing to run errands for Harry. 

If anything, Nick’s picked up that Louis is a bit of a mother hen when it comes to his boys, that even though him and Nick never ended up as the bestest of mates, that at some point they seemed to come to a polite truce for Harry’s sake.

At the end of the day, they’re both fiercely protective over Harry and that’s one thing they share in common. 

When the doorbell goes off at ten to noon, Nick stops puttering around in his kitchen and goes to answer it.

“Hey, Grimshaw,” Louis says as soon as he sees him. “You look like shit, mate.” 

Nick just rolls his eyes and opens the door wider, motioning for Louis to come in and follow him to his kitchen. “I’ve made some tea, if you’d like,” Nick says.

“Cheers,” Louis says.

“Um, so,” Nick says, pouring them two cups of tea and sliding a mug across the island for Louis. “I’ve consolidated all of Harry’s stuff so it’s just in one box. Don’t know if he asked you for anything specific, there’s probably a couple more of his things around that I’ve yet to stumble upon.”

Nick runs a hand through his hair, his nerves putting him on edge, and Louis is quiet, just looking at him thoughtfully.

“No, he didn’t mention anything specific,” Louis says shortly. 

Nick nods and raises his cup of tea to his mouth, blowing on the rim of his mug before he takes a sip. He’s glad he has something to do with his hands, tries to resist the itch to have a smoke too.

His flat feels awfully quiet and it’s a bit awkward between them. Nick’s ability to quip up small talk is eluding him. He’s always a bit run down and slow after having to spend an entire morning being bubbly on the radio.

“For what it’s worth,” Louis says in his scratchy voice, “I’m sorry that it had to come to this between you two.”

Nick bites his lip. 

“Harry’s just always been a bit of a free spirit, you know? I’ve found that he tends to be rather untethered to one place or...” Louis continues, running a hand through his hair. “To one person, even. I think we all, me and the lads, have come to terms with the fact that he’ll never really put any roots down.” 

Nick looks down at his hands curled around his mug. All the feelings he’s been trying to push away come rushing back to him, and he finds himself at a loss for words in the face of Louis apparently trying to comfort him. 

“Maybe it’s time that you did, too?” Louis says, and it’s more of a suggestion than a question.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice rough. 

Nick rubs at his eyes tiredly and lets out a long groan of frustration. 

“You saw this coming, didn’t you?” Nick says.

Louis’s lips are pursed, and he messes with his fringe a bit, taking a long sip of his tea before he answers.

“Mate, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t think any of us could’ve foreseen this, at least not in the exact way it played out. I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect at the beginning, which seems like ages ago now. I couldn’t tell whether you were bored and Harry was impressionable but the longer you two kept seeing each other I realized it was a bit different,” Louis says.

“But like, Harry can be completely unpredictable and I don’t think us being on tour helps much,” he continues. “You know, I’m not even entirely certain what went on between you two earlier this week, Harry’s been rather tight-lipped and upset about it… But I kind of picked up on the gist of it. I just know the lad too well. And Nick, in your case, I know you only see him when he comes to visit but, that’s only in short intervals, and I think it comes down to that Harry really does have a bit of a short attention span when it comes to his relationships with people.”

Nick makes a noncommittal noise, his mind running.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Louis says, with an air of finality.

Nick sips at his tea and nods slowly, mulling Louis’s words over in his head. He’s not feeling comforted at all, more surprised and just terribly upset. Nick was expecting a bit of this from Louis but it doesn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

After that, they make idle chit-chat for a bit before Louis has to leave.

When Nick walks Louis to the door so he can take Harry’s bag, he’s surprised that Louis leans over and gives him a short hug, saying, “I’d try not to hold it against him, yeah? I mean, it was a bit of a dick move on his part but that’s just Harry for you.”

Nick shrugs at that. He thinks Harry should be held accountable for his actions but he’s not really in a position to do anything about it. He’s too exhausted to even try to argue with Louis so he just lets it go.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind. Cheers, Louis,” he says.

They wave goodbye and when Nick shuts the door, he turns around and leans against it for a bit, head tipped back, breathes out a single shaky breath.

He stops himself from making a beeline to his pack of cigarettes, and decides a long hot shower will make him feel better before he has to head out again.

 

-

 

Nick drowns himself in work in an attempt to convince himself that the productivity is living proof that he’s got his shit together and that he can be fine after a breakup. Despite all of Nick’s attempts to push thoughts of Harry from his mind, he finds that it’s doubly hard to deal with rumours of them dating when they haven’t actually been speaking. At some point, Harry’s stream of apology texts stop as Nick keeps up radio silence on his end, and Nick thinks Harry has finally given up on him.

But some days Nick will check his phone and Harry will have sent a photograph of the New York City skyline. Or a picture of his tea in a barren hotel room. Sometimes it’s links to several outrageous YSL coats, _“which one do you think would suit me?”_ The photos Harry has taken are what disconcert Nick most. Even though he’s not responding, Harry has to know that Nick sees all the texts. Lets Nick know that Harry’s thinking about him, even though Nick doesn’t want to be reminded of Harry.

He wonders how Harry’s taking it. If he has a different American girl in his hotel bed every night.

Before Nick knows it, it’s no longer summer and December marks six months since he’s seen Harry.

-

A week before they take down Tracey Emin’s exhibit at the White Cube gallery, Nick skips out of a meeting from work early and heads over down to the nearest tube station. He picked a time before noon because he knows the gallery will be nearly empty and he’ll get the space to himself. He has an idea in mind of what to expect because of a tip-off from Henry that he had to see the show.

The pre-Christmas buzz keeps the BBC studios busy as ever, and Nick is already getting sick of lining up Ariana Grande covers of Christmas songs he’d already hated. Ever since Nick had worked a retail gig in his first year of uni, any inkling of Christmas music grated on his every nerve. The dreaded holiday is only two weeks away, and Nick is doing everything he can can to not think about how he spent one night three years ago trapped between his sheets getting his brains shagged out by Harry. Anniversaries are stupid, anyway. Just an excuse to make greeting cards and sell flowers, and Nick’s never been a huge fan of either.

Nick’s flicking through one of the copies of _Metro News_ he found on an empty seat on the tube, reading various end-of-year lists and the calendar of events happening around London. He vaguely notes the ones he’s supposed to attend as a guest, tries to remind himself that he needs to go get fitted for a new suit and go for a facial before the next one, because he’d spent hours in the bathroom that morning scrutinizing a new spot that appeared overnight.

When Nick reaches the gallery, his first time visiting, he approaches the massive industrial building with surprise. He peeks into the glass doors and it makes him glad he chose an off-peak time to visit. There are a handful of people milling about but it’s relatively quiet and empty in the gallery, the space feeling massive with high ceilings. There are long stretches of white gallery walls lined with drawings. The neon works are scattered throughout the exhibit, and there are narrow tables with white sculptural works in the center of each room.

The white walls of the gallery reflect pinks and greens from the neon works. There’s a room with whole wall with enormous black and white nude figure drawings, and Nick finds himself gravitating towards those first, letting himself take in the bold brushstrokes and wonder about whether they’re self portraits or drawings of lovers.

There’s a girl sitting on the ground in that room, and she must be an art student, with bubblegum pink Doc Martens that match her pastel pink bleached out hair. She has a massive drawing pad resting on her knees, her fingers stained black with charcoal as she sketches the drawings on the wall. Nick goes to stand behind her and survey the wall of drawings, his eyes flicking down to her sketchpad in curiosity, and he finds himself wanting to peer closer at the girl and her drawing and ask her about it. It’s half the reason Nick became a radio show host, because he’s always so fascinated by other people, wants to be able to poke at them and ask questions and get answers about the most mundane aspects of their lives.

Nick gives the girl her privacy because she’s clearly busy and in the zone, not a care in the world to how she looks on the pristine white floor of the gallery. He does get out his phone though, snapping a quick blurry photo of the drawings and the girl in the foreground of his iPhone screen.

Nick had dated an art student once, when he was in Liverpool doing Economics for that one semester before he’d gotten his shit together and switched to Media. Their lives had differed so much, and the lad was an oddball, but god, they’d had some great sex in those few weeks that Nick had known him. Nick had never modeled nude for him cause that was a bit cliche even for Nick, but he remembers the way the lad’s dingy little student apartment was always cluttered with a million art supplies and hand-stretched canvases stacked against the walls. Nick wonders where that lad is at now, if he’s still making art or just works a bartending job or something, his art-making falling to the wayside.

When Nick turns around in the room with the drawings he finds himself in front of a piece that exclaims _More Solitude_ in cursive neon text. He can’t help but smile at the irony. Nick’s a bit proud of himself for how he’s handled the break-up, if that’s what it even was. It’s definitely been a period of more solitude for him, and he thinks he’s actually alright with that. He snaps a picture of that piece as well, and continues along the exhibit, poring over each new piece he comes across.

The one that makes Nick stop in his tracks is the very last piece lined up in the exhibit. _I never stopped loving you_ , it says in glowing green. It makes Nick’s heart ache a bit, and he stands in front of it for ages, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. For some reason, the piece slightly comforts him. It makes him feels like he’s not the only one who fucked up and fell in love and can’t seem to stop. He thinks he’s still there, caught somewhere between trying to acknowledge that what happened between him and Harry is over and still living in the past, the memories still so fresh in his mind, still an open sore over his heart.

Nick walks out of the gallery in a daze, and he can’t shake himself out of it, not until he’s outside and almost near the tube station when it occurs to him that he never snapped a picture of that piece. Nick stops in his tracks and pauses, but something in him makes him turn around specifically so he can get a photo of the artwork.

When he’s back in the gallery a few moments later, the girl with the pink hair is stood in front of the sign, the big drawing pad tucked under her arm. She glances briefly at Nick, and then goes back to observing the work. Nick feels really nervous, suddenly, and it occurs to him that he doesn’t even know whether he’s allowed to be taking pictures of the artworks in the exhibit.

He tugs his phone out of his pocket and snaps a few pictures anyway, making sure to get one that isn’t blurry.

He’s looking down at his phone when the girl says something. “It’s quite sad, isn’t it?” she says.

Nick looks up at her in surprise.

“Yeah, it is,” he says warily.

“I mean, this whole show, it’s called _The Last Great Adventure Is You_ , and then for some reason, she decided to end it with this piece,” the girl rambles, and Nick can’t help but stare at her, seemingly lost in thought and just speaking out loud.

“Why’d you find that weird?” Nick finds himself asking.

She girl turns to look at him, and he notices that her eyes are bright green. They almost look incandescent, reflecting green light from the piece and appearing bright enough to remind Nick of someone else.

Nick finds that he’s suddenly feeling choked up.

“Because the adventure isn’t _you_ , is it? It’s _them_. Or how they affected you, how they left enough of an impression on you that they’re clearly still there,” she says.

Nick doesn’t say anything.

“You know, that it’s enough for you to realize that. That it’s turned into this _thing_ , this, _I never stopped loving you_ ,” she continues, gesturing towards the piece, and then she cuts herself off and starts to laugh, rubbing at her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I must be really bloody tired. Finals, you know?” she says.

Nick shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he says, and it comes out croaky. He bites his lip. “Thanks for that, actually. I think I actually needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” the girl says. Then she looks down at her watch and her mouth drops. “I’ve definitely got to run. Sorry about that, I really hope I didn’t ruin the show for you with my word vom.”

Nick watches as she gives him a half-hearted wave and pops out of the gallery, her pace quick as she heads in the direction of the tube station.

Then it’s just Nick and the sign, and now that Nick’s alone again he thinks he might actually tear up.

Nick sniffles and he turns away from the piece, squaring his shoulders.

He walks out of the gallery for the second time in a day, and this time, when he’s reached the tube station, he finds that he’s feeling calm. He’s still got a bit of a sniffle but he rubs at his eyes and manages to pull himself together, as he stands and waits for the train.

Nick comes to a decision then, and opens up the picture on his phone, fingers hovering over it. He resizes the photo so it’s in a square, and then he opens up Instagram and posts it there. Typing out _I never stopped loving you_ with green heart emojis in the comment box.

Then Nick’s posted it, and it’s out there, and Nick thinks he feels alright.

He shuts off his phone, sticks it on airplane mode so he doesn’t have to see any incoming texts (or _likes_ , his brain helpfully supplies), and gets on the train when it pulls in.  

Nick leans against the doors and tips his head back, closes his eyes and listens to the static sound of the train moving.

It’s just him, and it’s alright.

He’s going to be alright.

**  
**

**Author's Note:**

>  _2014-12-20 Edit:_ This fic explicitly details Nick and Harry's relationship and then their fallout. Heed the tags.


End file.
